

MR. ]< 

BAILEY-MARTIN fi 


PERCY WHITE 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

^ 




UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 















































































MR. BAILEY-MARTIN 




I 











« 

V 



MR. BAILEY-MARTIN 


BY / 

PERCY "WHITE 




NEW YORK 
LOVELL, CORYELL & 


> APR ^7 


COMPANY 


3IO-3T8 SIXTH AVENUE 






-<• 5 ^ 

"■s- 


Copyright, 1893, 

BY 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY. 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


CHAPTER I. 

All my life I have had an intense admiration of the 
unvarnished truth. It may be that we all esteem ve- 
racity so highly because it is a luxury too often denied 
us by the accident of circumstance. In the following 
confessions I propose to take off the closely fitting case 
by which my “ self ” is covered and let all the world 
see the mainspring of my character. My purpose is 
entirely a moral one. It will be revealed as my story 
unfolds. 

I know I had a grandfather because I have heard my 
father speak of his father, who was not, he said, “ so 
indulgent a parent as himself.” Beyond this my family 
history is obscure. It is, like that of kindred ancient 
families, lost in the mists of antiquity. There is a 
great deal in blood and bone, even when it comes 
through a line of progenitors unidentified with two 
exceptions. My grandfather started a small grocer’s 
shop in a by-street near Charing Cross. Modern im- 
provements have obliterated the original place of busi- 
ness. My father was a man of enterprise and ability. 
He succeeded my grandfather and was Martin the 
Second. There has been no Martin the Third. I am 


G 


MU. BAILEY-MABTIK. 


Percival Bailey-Martin, a hyphenated aristocrat and an 
ex-member of Parliament. Mine is the autobiography 
you are to read. 

Under my father’s administration the business rapidly 
extended and we, his offspring, grew with it, our am- 
bition — especially my ambition — increasing with the 
family prosperity. In my early years from the parlour 
behind the shop, educated, no doubt, to the practice, I 
have cried “ Shop, father ! ” to warn him of the arrival 
of a customer, and have seen him, in the absence of his 
assistant, sell half-a-pound of sugar to a child scarcely 
able to look over the counter. But this is amongst my 
earliest memories — a vision seen far off as though in 
another existence. From the dim by-street we mi- 
grated to Brixton, thence to the rural delights of Sur- 
biton. The shop blossomed into The Amalgamated 
Oloptic Stores, Limited. The Martins became the Bailey- 
Martins — my mother’s name was Bailey so the title was 
not usurped — and the family naturally assumed in time 
their rightful place amongst the suburban aristocracy. 
My father was a bustling, pushing man, and not thin- 
skinned, none of the Bailey-Martins are thin-skinned ; my 
mother, a managing woman full of a sort of coarse tact 
on which her schemes for social advancement throve — 
and although the City men and their ladies were in- 
clined to look down on us at first (this is when I was 
very young), we soon worked our way into the best 
set, where we moved on equal terms with members of 
the Stock Exchange with whom we vied in splendour. 
Our neighbourhood was, in the slang of our day, a “ styl- 
ish ” one, and my father said, and we all agreed with 
him, that it was “ just as cheap to know nobs as snobs 
and much more honourable.” In those days I had not 
learned to be ashamed of the English bourgeoisie, 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


7 


although from a comparatively early age the kind of 
vulgarity they suffered from vexed me. It happened 
that I was more intelligent than my brother, who was 
rightly supposed to have inherited my father’s business 
capacity, so it was decided that I should go into one of 
the professions — “the Church if possible,” said my 
mother — whilst the education of my brother was des- 
tined to be of that uncertain sort vaguely described as 
commercial. Consequently whilst he was despatched 
to a neighbouring collegiate school where the young 
gentlemen spoke with a cockney accent, and wore caps 
ornamented with neat gold bands, which gave them the 
military appearance enjoyed by German bandsmen, 
and caused them to be despised by the pupils of more 
aristocratic centres of learning, I was conducted to a 
preparatory establishment at the seaside to be trained 
for a public school. It was there that I formed my first 
conception of the world. Until the age of eleven I had 
enjoyed my share of teaching at the prim hands of the 
governess who ministered to the intellectual require- 
ments of my only sister. Her teaching was, I admit, 
narrow, although sound of its kind. This estimable 
lady believed in manliness, and took us for endless 
walks through Surbiton, Esher, and the neighbourhood, 
at a considerable speed, to help us to become athletic. 
AY hen Miss Spencer discoursed of manliness and in- 
formed us what excellent athletes certain distant 
family connections of hers happened to be, her voice 
became almost base in quality. She induced our 
mother to make us take cold baths every morning, for 
at that time the cold-tubbing mania was at its height. 
To take a warm bath in the morning w~as considered 
in certain circles in Surbiton almost as improper as 
going to chapel. Beyond teaching me to read in a 


8 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


virile style and insisting on cold baths and long walks, 
there was no particular system in Miss Spencer’s method 
of juvenile training. She, however, was acquainted 
with the elements of Latin ; the pronunciation of which 
she altered continually in accordance with the most 
recently discovered plan, and had a voluble acquaint- 
ance with the French tongue, as it is spoken in Eng- 
land — a dialect, after all, possessing considerable ad- 
vantages over the French of Paris, as it enables the 
natives of this country to understand each other in 
what they fancy is a foreign tongue. After Miss 
Spencer had taught me to pretend to like cold baths 
and pedestrian exercise — to conjugate my French verbs 
so cleverly that my first French teacher mistook it, as 
he said, for “ du c/nnois ,” and having in turn introduced 
me to Sisero, Kikero, and Chichero, her task with me 
was declared ended, and I was launched on the mov- 
ing scene of life at a preparatory school. The Bailey- 
Martins are not an emotional family, and the incident 
took place quietly enough. I shook hands with my 
father, and my brother, who had just donned his 
scholastic cap with the gold band, kissed my sister, 
and, under my mother’s care, left Surbiton for the 
fashionable watering-place where the Reverend Theo- 
philus Bland received “ twenty-five pupils, the sons 
of noblemen and gentlemen of position, to prepare for 
the public schools.” My mamma was then a stout, 
placid lady with rather unchanging blue eyes and an 
exaggerated notion of the importance of her own 
opinions. She was always ready with a “ now, I will 
tell you what I think,” and when, for instance, the 
subject happened to be the value of the dead languages 
or the revised edition of the Bible, her oracular utter- 
ances did not always throw light upon the question. 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


9 


“ Now, I will tell you what I think, Percival,” she 
said to me, as we drove along the sea front on a bluster- 
ing day in April to the school. “ Y ou know Mr. Bland’s 
terms are rather high hut he has a first-class connection” 
— my mother was very much fascinated by first-class 
connections ; — “ and some of your fellow- pupils are the 
sons of very high people with whom it is a privilege to 
associate. Mr. Bland told your father he had the son 
of a peer, the grandson of a bishop, and at least three 
or four honourables under his care. Your father and I 
think such an excellent opportunity of making friends 
will not be lost, and, as I wish you some day to go 
into the Church, think how useful to you it would be, 
with God’s blessing, to know people who possibly might 
have the gift of a good living. You understand me, 
Percival, my dear, I am sure.” 

I did, so I said “ Yes, ma,” as the fly drove up before 
the imposing residence of the Rev. Theophilus Bland, 
which seemed to be gazing across the wind-vexed sea 
with a look of aggressive respectability, the result of 
the constant polish to its exterior and the remarkable 
refinement of the aristocratic atmosphere prevailing 
within. 

My feelings, on entering the precincts of preparatory 
learning, were of a mixed character. W e had no peers 
at Surbiton, and I thought it would he a great advan- 
tage to live on terms of equality with one of them. I 
had frequently heard “ a lord ” spoken of with bated 
breath, and already it seemed tome that my own import- 
ance became greater from the fact of my approaching 
proximity to one. 

On the top of the stairs as we entered we had a 
glimpse of a plump little hoy in tears. I remember I 
despised him for this weakness, for I had no inclination 


10 


ME. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


to weep ; curiosity and expectancy were stronger than 
regret at leaving home. 

The Rev. Theophilus Bland was a tall man with grey 
whiskers, a high nose, and long, prominent teeth. He 
said he was glad to see me, and asked if “ my mother 
would take a glass of sherry or anything,” a vague offer 
of hospitality that she wisely rejected. 

“ This, Rev. Bland,” she said, “ is Percival, and I hope 
he will be a credit to you.” 

Then my mother talked and Mr. Bland and I listened. 

“Percival,” she said, “is a good boy, a tidy boy, an 
intelligent boy — and what I consider of still greater 
importance, — a plodding boy. W e intend him to go into 
the Church if we can, and I will tell you what I think, 
Mr. Bland, with such a high calling in prospect he can- 
not begin too soon to think seriously of his future.” 

Mr. Bland had bowed slightly at every point of my 
mother’s criticism of myself and when she had finished 
he fixed an impartial eye on me. 

“We will see what we can make of him, madam,” 
he said; “ I suppose we must begin at the beginning as 
usual.” 

“ I think not,” said my mother, “ for Miss Spencer, our 
governess, has instructed him in the elements of Latin, 
English, French, arithmetic, geography, history and a 
knowledge of Scripture.” 

“That,” said Mr. Bland, raising his eyebrows, “is 
satisfactory ; “ I trust he may not have to unlearn what 
he has already acquired, as is too often the case with 
people who have been taught at home.” 

Mr. Bland I found had a great objection to little boys 
being taught at home. “ Home training might be econo- 
mical,” he said, “ but it was invariably defective.” 

I remember vividly this first introduction to the 


ME. BAILEY -MAE TIN. 


11 


schoolmaster, because my eyes were opened by it. For, 
directly my mother had gone, suddenly his manner 
changed and he put his hands into his pockets and 
closed his lips and looked at me with the utmost indif- 
ference. This rather hurt my feelings, for I had felt 
convinced the account my mother had given of my 
qualities must have impressed him. 

“Now, young what’s-yer-name,” he said, “ I think we 
had better go to the school-room.” 

“ Percival Bailey-Martin,” said I. 

“ Indeed,” said he, “ come on.” 

And he lead the way down a passage into a high long 
room built out into an arid gravel yard where I found 
a number of boys of my own age doing nothing in par- 
ticular with an air of deep depression. 

“ They are all rather down on their luck,” said Mr. 
Bland as he surveyed the gloomy throng. “ Now then, 
boys,” he said, “ don’t look as though you were in a 
penitentiary. Here’s a new chap; his name’s Martin.” 

Then he shut me in and departed, whilst the boys 
gathered round. 

“ What’s your name ? ” said the biggest lad. 

“ Percival Bailey-Martin,” said I. 

“ Any relation to Martin, our chemist,” I wonder. 

“ Certainly not,” said I, “ my father lives at Surbi- 
ton and is a private gentleman.” 

“Rather a rum place for a private gentleman to 
live ! ” said another boy. “ Beastly low place Surbiton. 
Chock-full of London tradespeople. My aunt lives in 
Hampton Court Palace and I’ve heard her say so.” 

Here was quite a new aspect of things. 1 had never 
heard Surbiton spoken of disrespectfully before. My 
parents, I knew, had gone there because of “the 


12 


MB. BAILE Y -MARTIN. 


excellent society it afforded.” “I must be careful 
what I say,” thought I. 

“Yes, it is rather a beastly hole,” I said, coolly. “ We 
can’t quite stand the people. But, I say, what sort of 
school is this ? I sha’n’t stop if I don’t like it.” 

“ I hate it,” said the boy with the aristocratic pen- 
sioner relative at Hampton Court, “but my mater 
believes in old Bland, so here I stick.” 

“ I shouldn’t stand that if I were you,” said I. “ I 
always make my people let me do as I like, and I’ve 
come here just to see if this place suits me or not.” 

The value of bounce, you will perceive, I had already 
discovered. It had made an impression on my new 
companions, although I heard one fellow, a tall super- 
cilious-looking boy, exclaim : “ What a young Bounder ! ” 
a term of opprobrium then new to me. 

“ Are you going to Eton ? ” asked one lad. 

“ P’r’a’ps,” said I. “ My people will let me go where 
I like.” 

“ I wonder why you learn anything if you can do 
that?” 

“ Well, I only do learn what suits me,” I replied. 

“Look here, young Martin,” interposed the tall 
supercilious lad who had called me a “ Bounder,” “ we 
have had enough of your swagger, so just shut up, or 
you’ll be well kicked.” 

So I “ shut up,” coming, however, to a rapid deci- 
sion which I ever after remembered, that, to get on in 
life, not too much swagger, but just swagger enough, is 
most needed. With a beginner the amount is an un- 
fixed quantity and only discoverable by experience. 


CHAPTER II. 


I think it is M. About who says that children are 
what nature has made them, whilst men and women 
have been moulded by the clumsy hands of Society. 
This is true, to a certain extent. Looking back to my 
sojourn at Bland’s school, I feel it is a half truth. It 
is true, for instance, in the case of Lambert, the boy 
who threatened to kick me for “ swagger.” He was 
perfectly natural, and, as he said, never cared “ a blow 
for anything so long as he didn’t do things to make 
him feel like a skunk.” But with me, About’s dictum is 
not true. I was the outcome of my environment. I 
meant to “ get on ” like all the Bailey-Martins, so I took 
good care only to make friends that were useful — to 
make friends in the language of pulpit oratory, of 
“ the mammon of unrighteousness.” Lambert used to 
snub young Lord Righton and call him a “ milksop,” 
whereas I made myself his jidus Achates. I listened 
with silent admiration when, in answer to my inquiries, 
he told me how many ponies he had at home, and said 
I should like to see them. 

“Why,” said the good-natured little lord, “ I’ll ask 
’em to have you stay with me in the holidays if you’d 
re’lly like to see ’em so much. I wish you had to ride 
’em instead of me. Riding beastly rot.” 

The little nobleman was a rather anaemic and thin- 

13 


14 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


blooded member of the aristocracy. When Lambert 
said he was a “ milksop ” he described him accurately. 
So I wrote home and said perhaps Righton — “ Lord 
Righton, you know, mamma, the Earl of Marlington’s 
eldest son, is going to ask me to stay next holidays at 
Righton House.” My mamma took good care all Sur- 
biton should know it. It is true I didn’t go on this oc- 
casion, but the glory to the family was just the same. 

Mamma wrote to me and said I ought to invite Lord 
Righton to stay with us, but when I broached the 
subject he said it wasn’t possible. “ You see, Martin, 
my Gov’ner never heard of yours and everyone knows 
mine.” 

“ That may be, but ours is a very old family, only 
my Gov’ner’s such a retiring fellow,” I replied. 

This was in evening school, whilst I was busy writ- 
ing Righton’s Latin exercise for him, as usual. He 
yawned, I remember, and said, “ I wish it was bed- 
time.” 

I had not been long at school before Bland made me 
a monitor — a duty all the other fellows shirked. It did 
not carry with it any particular dignity, but it gave me 
an opportunity of prying into other boys’ affairs, and of 
reading any letters that might be lying in their desks. 
My duties were to remain behind every evening, and 
look round the school-room to see if the books and 
exercises of my fellow-pupils were put away, and to 
report any boy “for want of order.” This gave me an 
interesting opportunity of learning something about 
their home affairs, which, in such a seminary as ours, 
could not but be useful. Lambert said “ it wasn’t fit 
work for a gentleman, but well suited to such a sneak 
as Martin,” a saying for which I at the first oppor- 
tunity reported him for untidiness. He was angry and 


Mli. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


15 


violent in consequence, and nearly smothered me under 
my own pillow in the dormitory — the only revenge he 
could take, inasmuch as my vindictive cries of “ Shut 
up, Lambert,” must have been heard by the authorities 
supping below, had not the corner of the pillow, inserted 
so far in my mouth as to touch my uvula, stifled my 
complaints. 

I went home at the end of the term with my stock 
of worldly wisdom increased, and my horizon extended. 
There is nothing that expands the mind of a member 
of the middle classes more than mingling with the 
aristocracy from an early age. lie thus learns in his 
youth the actual value of social distinctions — distinc- 
tions that in these days of vulgar confusion, are likely 
to be forgotten — and if he happen to be a lad of tact 
and intelligence, his opportunities will not be wasted 
in after life. “ How the boy is improved ! ” said my 
mother, on the evening of my return. My polished 
manners and distinguished accent were compared 
(greatly to his disadvantage) with those of my brother 
Robert, fresh from his commercial academy. 

“Well,” said my father, “Percival’s school bill is 
double Bob’s, so it isn’t fair to expect the same article.” 

“We’ll see which is the best to wear, pa,” said 
Robert, naturally a little nettled at the comparison. 

“ There are no little lords at Robert’s school,” inter- 
posed my sister. “You can’t expect him to be so 
pompous as Percival.” 

“ Hush, child,” said my mother ; “ he’s not pompous, 
he’s only gentlemanly.” 

All this conversation was not actually in my pres- 
ence, but I overheard part of it from the hall when the 
drawing-room door was open. 

Robert, my sister Florence, and I, went to several 


16 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


juvenile parties that Christmas, where we were much 
admired, and my refined manners were an excellent 
advertisement to Bland’s Preparatory School. As a 
matter of fact, I rather overdid the thing, but my tact 
soon showed me this was necessary. If I had been too 
quiet, my excellent manners and address might have 
been overlooked, for we like things prononce, as they 
call it at Surbiton. 

All the ladies asked me how my young friend, Lord 
Righton, was. I said, “ Rigliton is very well, thank 
you ; I am going to stay with him next holidays.” 

This was not exactly true then, although it became 
so. I cultivated him so carefully, and gave him so 
much assistance in his studies, that Lady Marlington 
sent me an invitation, through Mr. Bland, to the delight 
of my parents. It is true Florence said she ought to 
have written to my mother, but the slight was too 
trifling to moderate the family rejoicing at the honour. 

Now looking back I am aware all this appears trivial. 
You see the past in my confessions stripped of all its 
trappings. I was born of the world “ worldly.” All 
Surbiton admired wealth and aristocratic connections 
above all things, for are not these the gods of the middle 
classes? As I became better acquainted with the 
world, I found the Church had no attractions for me. 
Mr. Bland was a clergyman, and evidently thought 
little of his profession. My mother had still hanker- 
ings after it, for although not exactly devout, she had 
an instinctive veneration for the Established Church ; 
as well as a fair share of the superstitious side of reli- 
gion, and to her a son in the Church seemed a sort of 
moral lightning conductor to ward off the unknown 
dangers associated with cemeteries, undertakers, thun- 
der-storms, and dark passages. But my father said, 


ME. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


17 


“Percival can do better.” So I determined to do 
better. 

I spent nearly all the Easter holidays with Lord 
Righton. The Lord and the Countess were on the 
Riviera, and Lady Gertrude’s governess, Miss Gilbert, 
did the honours. I confess it was rather dull — duller far 
than home, — but there was a feeling of glory in it. The 
governess was rigid and frigid ; Lady Gertrude, who 
was several years older than myself, not half so pretty 
or amusing as my sister Florence ; Righton, as usual, 
listless and apathetic. He and his sister were dosed 
with cod-liver oil three times a day by Miss Gilbert. 

“Ask Martin to have some,” young Righton said, 
“I don’t see why he shouldn’t have some too. He’s 
growing and his blood’s thick.” 

“Would you like some?” asked the grim Miss Gil- 
bert. 

“Do have some, Percival,” entreated Lady Gertrude, 
who had already acquired a woman’s love for the 
medicine chest. “ I am sure you have a weak chest.” 

“ Thank you, Miss Gilbert,” said I, determined to do 
my best to please my young host and hostess, “ perhaps 
I had better have some, as Lady Gertrude is kind 
enough to think it will do me good.” 

So I was drenched with cod-liver oil, which I swal- 
lowed without a wry face in order to set young Righton 
a good example. The oil-taking after this became of 
daily occurrence, and made me glad when my visit 
terminated. 

When my mother met me at the station, she found 
me “ looking bilious,” and concluded it was the rich 
and aristocratic cookery to which I had been accus- 
tomed. She never learnt what was the real cause. 

To permit myself to be dosed in this way, in order to 
2 


18 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


ingratiate myself with Lady Gertrude, was one of those 
errors into which we fall at first in our anxiety to pro- 
pitiate those who sit in the high places of the world. 
To anyone with a glimmer of humour it must have pre- 
sented me in a comic light, and this at the time I over- 
looked. The discomfort it entailed, moreover, was of 
proportion to the end in view. I perceived this when 
I had swallowed the first nauseous dose, hut having 
put my hand to the plough (excuse the metaphor, it is 
not a happy one), I determined not to turn back. The 
worst of the matter was that Right on told the fellows 
at school. 

“ Just fancy trying to ‘ suck up ’ to a fellow’s people 
by taking cod-liver oil,” was the contemptuous remark 
Lambert made when he heard of it. “You’re safe to 
be made a Lord Mayor one of these days, Martin ; a cod 
rampant on a yellow shield would be a capital crest for 
you. I don’t suppose you’ve been a swell long enough 
to have one. In the days of chivalry, you know, coats- 
of-arms were given for some daring deed ; so you ought 
to be rewarded for the beastly oil you lapped down.” 

The fellows thought this very amusing, and the story 
is still told of me to my disadvantage by my school- 
fellows. 

I left Bland’s at fourteen, the same term as Lord 
Righton, and followed him and several other of my 
school- fellows to Harrowby. My three years’ prepara- 
tion had taught me much. I soon learnt to employ a 
vulgar but expressive metaphor not “ to lay it on too 
thick.” 

I determined to make a mark at Harrowby, and I 
succeeded. When one knows how, and is fairly well 
equipped physically, as I was, this is not difficult. To 
be “ good at games ” is the first essential ; to be a capable 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


19 


scholar is not so important, but nevertheless carries 
credit along with it. I soon learnt to play cricket 
decently, and though I was never in the eleven, I was 
in measurable distance of reaching the honour. I was 
captain of “our house” eleven, — I acquitted myself 
creditably at foot-ball, took several little cups home to 
my admiring parents for second places gained on various 
occasions in consolation races. Though I left Harrowby 
without getting into the Sixth, I was fairly high up in 
the “ Upper Fifth.” I was removed in order to spend 
a year on the Continent to learn French. I pass over 
my school days briefly. English Public Schools are 
excellent training institutions. It is there a boy learns 
a sense of proportion in social things that is of the 
greatest use to him afterwards, if he belong to the 
middle class. He learns, for instance, to despise “ a 
swot ” — as we used to call a lad who had a taste for 
literature — tastes which Harrowby in my day did not 
alleviate. He also learns how he ought to have his 
trousers cut in order to shine in polite society, and to 
respect the beauty and gloss of the tall hat. The very 
slang he picks up gives him distinction when he goes 
home. He is made in truth an elegant sort of Philis- 
tine who despises poverty, admires display, and 
considers field sports a passport to statesmanship. 
Harrowby in my time was a microcosm, and, an in- 
telligent microbe in that miniature world, I learnt to 
swagger with the best, and to leer at the young ladies 
in the confectioners’ shops, with unblushing effron- 
tery. In the holidays brother Bob used to take me as 
copy, and to set the fashion at his commercial academy 
with me for a model. My sister Florence, I admit, was 
accustomed to laugh at me, but her sense of humour 
was always an exaggerated one ; humour, if she be 


20 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


excepted, not being the strong point of the Bailey- 
Martins. I am inclined to think its possession a some- 
what doubtful advantage. Men and women at the best 
are rather ridiculous beings, and if they are spared a 
knowledge of the fact by their own dulness, the loss 
has its compensations ; imagine what a life of self-torture 
my father’s, my mother’s, Bob’s life and my own life 
must have been, if we had looked on life with the eye 
of William Makepeace Thackeray, who wrote a book 
about snobs, in which none of us could find anything 
funny. When I went to school at the Rev. Theophilus 
Bland’s I think I must have formed my plans for the 
future. My object, no doubt already sufficiently clear, 
was to climb up a rung in the social ladder. I cannot 
recollect when the purpose first dawned clearly in my 
youthful mind. Looking back it seems as if I must 
« have inherited it like an instinct. Retrievers — a race of 
dogs, originally, I suppose, the result of cross breeding 
— have now the advantages of a long series of ancestors 
between themselves and the stock from which they 
sprung. To-day, dogs come into the world with the 
retiring instinct as an inheritance. My studies into 
the mysteries of natural history are superficial, and 
readers with a deeper tincture of the science may per- 
haps contradict my conclusion. It rests on no stronger 
authority, so far as I am aware, than the uncertain 
recollection of somebody else’s assertion. I once heard 
someone or other make this statement about retrievers. 
Let its accuracy be granted for the sake of argument, 
in order to account in a similar manner for my own 
mental precocity. From the earliest age I longed to 
be someone of importance, and I believe the' desire is 
due to heredity. How useful the Darwinian theory 
lias become as an explanatory system ! I instinctively 


3/7, \ BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


21 


worshipped wealth just as the retrievers of my parallel 
(if not of actual existence) fetch and carry soon after 
their eyes are open. My father had flourished and 
expanded amongst a small plutocracy of a London 
suburb, and had in that satisfied his ambition. I, how- 
ever, started where he began, and with Harrowby 
behind me and Oxford before me, was by no means 
able to rest content with a “ house and grounds ” over- 
looking the river and the trees of Bushy Park beyond. 
This goal might suit brother Bob, who had now a post 
under my father in the “ Amalgamated Oloptic,” well 
enough, but, for an enterprising young man who had 
more than once been the guest of a peer, it meant 
what I had recently learnt in France to call a carriers 
manquee. 

I was nineteen when I returned from a year’s resi- 
dence in Paris under the tuition of a “ highly recom- 
mended ” Protestant pasteur. This reverend gentle- 
man, who dwelt at Passy, let us do pretty nearly what 
we liked, so long as we did not bother him. We were 
not exacting, and the twelvemonths three of my young 
fellow-countrymen and myself spent under the roof of 
this excellent man passed pleasantly and, I think, not 
unprofitably. I regretted afterwards that the constant 
use we made of our own tongue, added to an uninter- 
rupted perusal of The Sporting Times and similar 
literature, prevented me from acquiring any facility in 
the language of the country. But I certainly made the 
best of my opportunities to pick up the French of Paris 
as it is spoken at the Palais Royal theatre and 
amongst the habitues of the Eden, and so long as we 
did not wake up ce cher Monsieur Patry , as the small 
colony of French Calvinists shepherded by our pious 
instructor called him, our late hours were not com- 


22 


3 / 7 ?. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


mented upon. It is true he sometimes languidly in- 
quired at breakfast whether we had enjoyed Racine at 
the Comedie Fran$aise , which respectable and national 
institution was supposed to be the only place of dra- 
matic entertainment we frequented, — but the good man 
was discreet and refrained from questioning us too 
closely on the performance. If our dear mammas had 
only known — but never mind, whose early career will 
bear close investigation by a parent of evangelical 
proclivities ? 


CHAPTER ITT. 


“ And now,” said my father, the day after my return, 
(via Dieppe for economy but with depressing results,) 
“ what do you intend to do, Percival ? ” 

“ I should like to go up to Oxford,” I replied. “ Lord 
Righton is ‘ up ’ now and a lot of other old Harrow- 
bians, and I think, as Bob’s in business, one of us ought 
to go into the professions.” 

“ I thought, Percival,” said my mother, “ you were 
desirous of entering the Church ? ” 

“I don’t think I am quite good enough for that, 
mamma,” I replied, meekly. “ The Church requires 
qualities which I am afraid I haven’t got.” 

“ But you would acquire them at Oxford, Percival, 
surely,” said she. 

“ Dr. Winch, who’s likely to become a bishop, mamma, 
our old head-master, thinks I am not fitted for the 
Church.” 

My mother’s face fell. She no doubt beheld me in a 
vision preaching an eloquent discourse at Surbiton to 
all the “ best people ” ; the image was, I knew, a fav- 
ourite one with her. “ O, Percival, I have always looked 
forward to your taking Holy Orders. I shall write to 
Dr. Winch.” 

“ O don’t do that, mamma,” said I, anxiously, for old 
Winch had entirely ignored my future career and was 

23 


24 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


hardly aware of my existence. “ Before I left lie sent 
for me and I told him you wished me to be a clergy- 
man. 4 You can do better than the Church, Bailey- 
Martin,’ he said ; 4 you are cut out for the law. Go to 
Oxford and be called to the Bar afterwards. The 
Church will be disestablished before you could get a 
living, and then what would you do ? ’ ” 

44 What will he do then?” asked my sister, looking 
up from her novel, and suspicious I was inventing this 
conversation for the exigencies of my new position. 

44 My dear Florence,” I said, 44 1 am merely giving 
you his opinion. The Established Church may last 
his time but not mine.” 

44 Well, I hope they won’t disestablish the Bar,” said 
she, 44 that would be unlucky for you.” 

My mother looked at me a moment gloomily, my 
father critically. 44 1 think, my dear, Dr. Winch was 
right. Law for the successful few is better than the 
Church ; we get a lot of law business at the 4 Oloptic,’ 
which might be put in Percival’s hands.” 

The 44 Oloptic ” had just lost a case. They had been 
selling the 44 Oloptic Blend” at half a crown a pound, 
and had described it as the best Ceylon tea, but experts 
discovered it contained only second tea dust from China 
and Indian sweepings, consequently the 44 Oloptic ” was 
fined £20, and had to pay considerable legal costs into 
the bargain. 

44 You don’t find such a good class of men in the 
Church now as you used to,” said I, gravely, after a 
moment’s pause. 

44 So I fancy,” replied my father. 44 There’s a church 
here where the congregation supplement the curate’s 
salary by an annual collection. It wasn’t like that 
when I was a lad. Either rectors could afford to pay 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 25 

or the class from which the clergy were drawn were — 
were ” 

My father hesitated for a word, as he sometimes did. 
He was a fairly fluent man, but occasionally gasped 
for a term which one of his family, Florence usually, 
supplied. 

“ Less impecunious,” she suggested. 

“Thank you, Florence, yes, less impecunious.” 

“ But you could make Percival an allowance, papa,” 
interposed my mother. “ I could never endure the idea 
of a child of mine being supported by ‘voluntary con- 
tributions ! ’ ” 

“Nor I either,” I said. “I should blush myself to 
death whilst the plate was being handed round. But 
you see papa can just as well make me an allowance 
whilst I am at the Bar. I couldn’t support myself all 
at once. He would find the money better laid out in 
that way.” This with a winning and ingenuous smile. 
I always regarded money in a light and airy manner, 
especially when it was not my own. 

“ I dare say I can,” said papa, “if I find you are worth 
sinking capital in. But look here, I have just had 
Mooshure Patry’s bill, and see there’s a considerable 
amount of pocket-money against you.” 

“You told me to go to him when I wanted any- 
thing,” said I, “and going about in Paris to pick up 
the best accent is expensive.” 

“Of course it is,” said Florence, “a second best ac- 
cent is shocking. And you have picked up a fine one ! 
You talk quite French French! ” 

“My dear,” interposed my mother, “don’t be satir- 
ical. It is unbecoming in a girl to try to be witty. 
M. Patry assures us Percival is a very excellent French 
scholar.” 


26 


MB. BAILEY-MABTIX. 


“ I shall be able to take up modern languages at Ox- 
ford, if you decided on my going there,” said I to my 
father as an excuse for the expense of the accomplish- 
ment. “ I had a letter from Righton the other day, 
and he said he hoped I was coming up. He’s in the 
best set. They’ve made themselves into a club, ‘ The 
One Button Club.’ He wants me to join.” 

“The Righton connection, of course, is a valuable 
one,” said my father. “ But understand this, Percival, 
if you go to the University, I will stand no nonsense. 
You are to mind your books and not be dissipated.” 

“ Percival dissipated ! ” exclaimed my mother indig- 
nantly. “Boys are only dissipated who have been 
badly brought up.” 

“ I hope I have no taste for idleness or dissipation,” 
said I with an injured air. “ My object is to get on 
in life, to be a credit to you and mamma.” 

This little speech irritated Florence ; my little 
speeches often did. 

“ What do the boys do at the ‘ One Button Club ? ’ ” 
she said. 

“ When boys go up to the ’Varsity,” said I, “ they call 
themselves ‘ men.’ ‘ College isn’t school.’ ” 

“Well, what do the ‘men’ do then?” 

“ They wear one brass button on their dress coats 
and meet at one another’s rooms.” 

“ What do they do there ? ” 

I found afterwards, as then I guessed, that they 
smoked and drank, and told doubtful stories, just as 
we did at old Patry’s, only on a manlier scale. They 
had more room for style. Instead of smuggling a bot- 
tle of cheap cognac and a packet of strong flavored 
Caporal cigarettes into the bedroom, they drank dear 
but nasty wine, and smoked Partagas at a shilling a 


MR. BAILEY-MA R TIX. 


27 

piece. Otherwise the difference was trifling. Had 
they realised the juvenile orgies of the “men” my 
parents would have been dreadfully shocked, even 
although Righton was a lord, to whom, of course, some 
latitude is allowed. 

The club was, in his words, “ doosid smart don’t cher 
know,” but I did not tell this to my family. 

“ Lord Righton is getting quite sharp at Oxford,” 
I said. 

“ Ah, Percival, you always helped Lord Righton at 
school with his lessons,” said my mother, admiringly. 
“It would be very nice for you two to be together 
again. Papa ! you must enter Percival’s name on the 
books of Lord Righton’s college as soon as possible.” 

When she said this I knew I should have my way. 
My parents, no doubt, discussed the matter together. 
My father was a little “close” with his money when 
he could not see any immediate return for it, but my 
mother persuaded him I was capable of becoming Lord 
Chancellor if given a fair chance. So it came to pass, 
soon after my return from pretending to learn French, 
I found myself a knowing Freshman at Oxford, and an 
energetic member of the “ One Button Club.” But if 
I were to describe my university-life I should have 
little space left for the remainder of my story. If any 
young man ever profited by his residence there I did. 
I took all the polish it had to give ; knew, to a nicety, 
what to admire and what to despise. You really must 
go to College to learn this. 

I availed myself probably even more of the social 
advantages offered me than of the opportunities of 
“mental culture” afforded by that ancient seat of learn- 
ing. “ Remember, Percival,” I used to say to myself, 
“ the best is only good enough for you.” I set to work 


28 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


persistently to cultivate the best set. Some of the men 
attempted to snub me, but it was not an easy matter. 
I was never prompt to take offence and I conquered in 
the end. I had a way of finding out the weaknesses 
of others and of working on them. Besides, flattery 
with the young is a powerful weapon. To adapt your- 
self to other people’s whims and make yourself agree- 
able is a sure way to popularity, with a very large percen- 
tage of the human race. But I was never a tuft-hunter 
— never ! I was received into the best set on my own 
merits. After all, the right sort of friends are of more 
value to a man than an Honour’s Degree, unless he is 
going to be a parson or a pedagogue. But I took mine. 
My parents imagined it a magnificent intellectual feat. 
A good many of the members of the “ One Button Club ” 
never grew out of the undergraduate stage. Lord 
Righton, for instance, never took his, nor Murgatroyd, 
who went into the Guards, nor Bertie Henshawe, Lord 
Gunsberry’s eldest son. I was a good-looking fellow. 
Every one admitted that, and my relations were justly 
proud of me. Surbiton was proud of me, and I felt 1 
did her credit. I remember when I came “ down ” for 
good I was approaching the idyllic stage, through which 
we all pass. I felt that all the world was before me, 
that soon I was to write Barrister-at-law after my name 
and dwell in chambers in The Temple and be a man 
about town. Meanwhile all things were prospering 
with the family. Florence had grown into a very 
beautiful woman, and the youths of the neighbourhood 
fluttered around her eagerly wherever she appeared. 
I remember my father was very angry one morning to 
find, chalked along his garden wall in letters a foot 
long, the following words: “I would like to marry 
Florence Bailey-Martin. She is the prettiest girl in 


MU. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


29 


Surbiton.” Fame has its drawbacks. The gardener 
was ordered to remove this artless confession of admira- 
tion, and Florence never saw it. The Bailey-Martins 
had now become very important people. By this time 
they were spoken of as “one of the oldest families.” 
Length of residence in a suburban district always 
confers dignity. The Surbitonians turn up their noses 
at new-comers, and, sniffing disdainfully, wonder who 
they are ? Surbiton then was split into cliques and the 
one in which we moved lorded it over all the rest. 
Now I confess at this time the place had great charms 
for me. There was the glory — dear to the youthful — 
of punting on the river in immaculate boating costume 
and my college colours. To sit in a sailor hat on the 
cushions in my tent was held to be a place of honour by 
the young ladies. Ah ! these youthful glories ! The 
memory of them is still dear. Freedom, health, happi- 
ness, the esteem of acquaintances, all was mine ! The 
sun shines very brightly at Surbiton, the lilac comes 
out in scented patches, the chestnuts rise like froth on 
green waves on the stately trees of Bushy, and a human 
heart is a human heart, under the stiffest shirt front or 
the tightest stays. These are memories which fill us 
with romance. You see there is some poetry in me 
after all, although I never read a poem in my life of my 
own accord. It was about this time that I discovered 
something underlying life that I had not suspected. 
Of course you know what is coming ! Yes, you are 
right, I fell in love. Ah, but wisely, wisely, as you will 
see. How did it all come about ? I cannot tell. In 
the words of the poet whose works I have read at school 
“ et militari non sine gloricl .” I was now twenty-four, 
I had a good allowance, perfect freedom, and with such 
advantages it was not to be expected that, well— you 


30 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


know what was to be expected. I had read of love in 
novels and heard it described by the classical poets as 
a sort of enchantment. But this had been all words, 
words, words of no more importance than the phrases 
of a geometrical definition. 

“ The square on the hypotenuse of a right-angled 
triangle is equal to the sum of the squares on the other 
two sides.” Indeed! 

“ The sunlight clasps the earth 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea : 

What are all these kisses worth, 

If thou kiss not me ? ” 

I am sure I did not know or care until I heard Editli 
Lyall sing it. But do not mistake me. I am not about 
to make a fool of myself and spoil a promising life. 

It was a bright summer day, and the river was cov- 
ered with boats, for it was a local regatta. Bob and 
Florence had gone on before. I had been loafing idly 
pretending to read law, but in reality studying a French 
novel. I decided to go and join them, and made my 
toilet. At Surbiton we are not ashamed to dress for 
our mild boating athletics. Personally I never believe 
in a young man who pretends to despise clothes. It is 
evidence almost invariably of plebeian origin. It was 
half-past four ; the sun was brilliant and hot ; I 
resplendent in my straw hat, white shirt, and college 
colours. On my way down to the river I passed Tom 
Brown — a young man who insisted on claiming 
acquaintance with me because he had been at Bob's 
confounded academy. This time I cut him. 

In the punt, which Bob had moored under a tree, I 
found a strange young lady sitting by my sister. They 
both had large straw hats and white dresses ; the sun- 


ME. BA ILEY-MAE TIN. 


31 


light flickered on to them through the thick green 
leaves which the wind stirred. 

“ This is Pereival, my eldest brother,” said Florence. 
“ Pereival, let me introduce you to Miss Lyall, a school- 
fellow of mine.” 

Florence had been to school at Brighton and had 
many friends, most of whom I had met, although 
hitherto I had discovered in them nothing to distin- 
guish them from other girls of my acquaintance. Miss 
Lyall looked up at me graciously and smiled, whilst I 
removed my straw hat with that peculiar aplomb in 
my day fashionable at the ’Varsity — a salutation full of 
hidden meaning, indicating a deep knowledge of the 
world and its ways, a weariness thereof, and a con- 
cealed resentment against it for being such a tedious 
place. Lord Burleigh could signify a great deal by a 
word ; young Oxford suggested a whole moral attitude 
by a bow. 

“ Ah-m. IIow do you do, Miss Lyall ? ” I said. 

“Your sister tells me you have been busy with your 
books,” said Miss Lyall. 

She had a little manner of glancing under her lids 
which — well — which I noticed. Then she lowered her 
head, and the brim of her hat hid her eyes. 

“ Papa said he was coming down to take tea in the 
punt,” said Florence when I had found as comfortable 
a place as Bob’s legs would allow. 

“ I hope he won’t,” said Bob ; “ he will make the punt 
so crowded.” 

Here a snorting steam launch with the umpire 
steamed noisily down the course, steered by a fair- 
haired lady of our acquaintance who had assumed an 
expression of fixed nautical abstraction for the occasion, 
whilst the crowds in the boats put on an air of moder- 


32 


MU. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


ate expectancy. All aquatic Surbiton was on the 
water, and the dandy puntmen were striking their best 
attitudes. Then came the race, and when it was over 
Miss Lyall asked me which had won. 

“ I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” I said ; “ don’t know 
anything about these local fellows.” 

“You mustn’t imagine Percival is a boating man be- 
cause he is dressed like one,” said my sister. 

“ Did you not row at college?” inquired Miss Lyall, 
looking up again from under the drooped eyelids. Was 
it natural, I wondered, or a dodge? 

“ I rowed for a short time in my college eight, ” I 
said, “ but soon gave it up. To be strictly accurate, 
it gave me up. They tried me and came to the con- 
clusion I couldn’t pull my weight.” 

“ That must be very exciting,” said Miss Lyall. “ Do 
you ever get excited, Mr. Bailey-Martin ?” 

We always insisted on our hyphenated title in full, 
and usually were allotted the distinction. 

“Ila! ha! ha!” laughed Florence. “Percival be- 
came blase after his second term at Harrowby ; a year 
of Paris extinguished the sparks of youth in him, and 
now Oxford and the ‘ One Button Club ’ have reduced 
him to settled melancholy.” 

Florence was laughing at me as usual ; I was accus- 
tomed to this and ignored her raillery, but I did not 
wish Miss Lyall to look on me as a ridiculous 
person. 

“ As you were at school with Florence, Miss Lyall,” 
I said, “ you will be able to make allowances for her.” 

“ Florence is A 1 at a joke, ” said Bob, whose slang 
was plebeian from city association. 

“ Surbiton, I hear,” said Miss Lyall, “is not over- 
weighted with wit.” 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


33 


“ Refinement and splendour are the strong points of 
the place,” said Florence. 

Florence had been spoilt by too much admiration. 
She was a clever girl. Yes, I must admit, Florence was 
clever, but peculiar, very peculiar. Before Bob had 
time to take up the defence of Surbiton, my father 
arrived on the scene from the station. 

“ I do wish the Guv’nor wouldn’t wear a ‘ topper ’ in 
the punt,” said Bob. “ I wish you’d give him a hurt, 
Florence.” 

“ What is the good of a hint in our family ? ” she 
asked. “ I’ve given out plenty about those white spats 
of yours.” 

“ Spats are a different thing,” said Bob. “ But a 
1 topper ’ in a punt ! I should think even the Gov’nor 
would draw the line there.” 

My father was standing on the bank talking to 
young Brown, whom I had just pretended not to see. 

“ I hope,” I said, “ he won’t bring him into the 
punt.” 

“ Why not ? ” asked Florence ; “ he’s more natural 
than most the young men.” 

“ Natural ! ” I retorted. “ Oh, yes, he’s natural 
enough, if hob-nails and impudence are a sign of it.” 

Brown always insisted on calling me Martin, and I 
resented it. 

Then my father stepped into the punt, Bob making 
way for him. It was always Bob’s duty to do the odd 
jobs — to get out of the way, to go on errands, to fetch 
and carry generally. As an Oxford man, these lowly 
offices could not be expected of me, and I took care 
never to perform them. 

“ I was asking young Brown to come into the punt,” 
said my father, “ but it appears, Percival, you have 

3 


34 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


made him angry. lie says you never know him when 
you see him.” 

“ And what did you say, papa ? ” asked Florence. 

My father always prided himself on being a thorough 
man bf the world ; he may be, but it isn’t the world I 
am accustomed to. 

“This is what I said to him,” replied my father. 
“ ‘ Look here, Brown,’ I said, ‘ Percival’s young, and a 
bit of a swell. But never you mind, he’ll know you fast 
enough in a year or two.’ ” 

My father evidently thought he had said the right 
thing. 

“ And what did Mr. Brown say ? ” asked Florence. 

. “ Why,” replied my father, “ he said, ‘ I’ll be hanged 
if he shall ! ’ ” 

This story tickled Florence, and she laughed, with 
an under accompaniment from Miss Lyall. 

“ My dear Percival,” she said, “ you really must have 
an equerry, you must indeed ! ” 

Bob was with difficulty boiling the water with a 
spirit lamp and Florence preparing the tea. I talked 
to Miss Lyall. Her mother had just taken a house in 
Surbiton I discovered, and they knew no one but my 
sister. 

“ And how do you like the place ? ” I inquired. 

“ Very much. I like the river and the sunshine and 
the country.” 

“ And the people ? ” 

“ I don’t know them yet. Our neighbours have not 
been in a hurry to call.” 

“ The Surbiton people are a little particular,” said 
my father, “ but you’ll find they will call fast enough 
when they’ve found out all about you.” 

Miss Lyall raised her eyebrows. 


MIL BAILEY-MARTIN. 35 

“ My father means the people are inquisitive,” said I, 
apologetically. 

“ Rather a select lot, you know,” put in Bob from 
the end of the punt, struggling with the spirit lamp. 

“ The best selected specimens of suburban aristo- 
crats, Edith, you know. But you must try to put up 
with them,” said my sister. 

“ They have the reputation for being exclusive,” said 
Miss Lyall, “ but I suppose you know everyone here ? ” 

“ Well, not everyone exactly,” said I ; “ some of them 
are impossible.” 

“ Percival means the people who live in the back 
streets,” exclaimed Florence. 

“ We are just out of the list of the ‘ impossibles ’ 
then,” said Miss Lyall. “ I suppose we must conduct 
ourselves with humility, and after a time our existence 
will be recognised.” 

Evidently, the Lyalls were not too well off. 

This was disappointing. 

“ You are living with your mamma, I believe? ” said 
my father. 

“Yes. My mother is not very strong,” replied she. 

“ This is just the place for her,” said my father, with 
the air of a connoisseur. “ The air is very fine.” 

“If you had supplied it yourself it couldn’t have 
been better, could it, papa ? ” said Florence, who had 
finished making the tea which Bob was handing 
round. 

If Bob had made a joke of this kind, — I admit it was 
impossible, with its reference to the enterprising char- 
acter of the “ Oloptic,”— he would have been promptly 
“ sat upon,” but as a commentator Florence was allowed 
perfect freedom— a privilege of which she constantly 
availed herself. 


3G 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


“ ‘ Supplied it yourself ! ’ ha ! ha ! ha ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ” 
laughed Bob. “ Not bad that, eh ? ” 

“ What’s not bad ? ” asked my father. 

“ Why, ‘ supplied it yourself,’ ” explained Bob. 

“ Supplied what myself ? ” 

“The air.” 

“ What air ? ” 

“ Why, this air.” 

“ What’s the silly fellow mean, Florence ? ” asked 
my father. 

“ These are the dangers of the comic man,” said she. 
“ I really don’t know.” 

“ No ; nor anyone else either.” 

“ Why ! this is always happening,” grumbled Bob. 
“ Florence says something funny, and when I begin to 
explain it to the others, she pretends she can’t see 
what I’m driving at. Isn’t it a shame, Miss Lyall ? ” 

“ It is indeed. Why don’t you help your brother ? ” 
she said to me. 

“ Joking’s rather bad form, I think,” said I ; “ I leave 
it to the comic papers.” 

“ Even they can do it better,” said Florence. “ But 
that pistol means the last race has started.” 

When it was over, Florence and I saw Miss Lyall 
home. 

“ What do you think of her ? ” asked my sister, after 
we had left her friend at her door. 

“ She’s charming. But who are the Lyalls ? ” 

“ Well, Mrs. Lyall is Mrs. Lyall, and Edith is Edith. 
That’s all the information I can give you.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense ; you were at school with her 
and must know something about them. They can’t be 
well off or they couldn’t live where they do.” 

“ Mrs. Lyall is a widow — Edith her only daughter.” 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


37 


44 So I inferred. Who was Mr. Lyall ? ” 

44 I’ve no idea.” 

44 Where did they come from ? ” 

44 I’ve no notion.” 

44 But if we take them up, all Surbiton will be asking 
who they are, and then when we’ve given ourselves 
away Mrs. Temple or the W ottlington - Shoesmiths, or 
some of that lot, will find out Papa Lyall kept a toy-shop 
at Brixton, or something equally agreeable, and then 
where shall we be ? ” 

44 In the same elevated atmosphere we are accustomed 
to breathe, I suppose,” she answered, laughingly. 

44 I’ve no patience with you, Florence.” 

44 Nor I with you, Percival.” 

Then looking to the west, I saw the sun sinking be- 
hind the great bank of trees in Bushy Park, long beams 
of slanting light piercing the gaps between the rounded 
masses. I had never noticed their beauty before. 


CHAPTER IV. 


We always “got up” a subscription dance at Surbi- 
ton, heralded usually in the local paper by allusions to 
“Mrs. Bailey-Martin’s approaching function, at which all 
the beau-monde of the neighbourhood are expected to 
assemble.” 

The tickets were to be obtained of my mother and 
other Lady Patronesses, amongst whom she was a mov- 
ing spirit. But to what envy, hatred, malice and all 
uncharitableness did not this ball give rise in our out- 
wardly smugly self-satisfied community. Now it was 
“ highly select.” Only those who have lived in a Lon- 
don suburb can understand the significance of that. It 
means it was as far as possible restricted to the three or 
four leading cliques of the place that could mingle with- 
out too much friction. “ W e won’t have any outsiders,” 
we said. It is true a stranger can hardly distinguish 
shades of social distinction amongst “ the classes ” in 
suburban society, but I can assure you they are marked. 
This is how they are formed. A certain number 
of families of considerable means and a sufficiency 
of effrontery, by a tacit understanding, form them- 
selves into a “ set.” They give one another dinners, 
dances and boating parties, and consider those of their 
neighbours uninvited “ outsiders.” Some of these cliques 
agree occasionally to meet on the perfectly neutral 
ground of a charity ball, but in their temporary alliance 
36 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


39 


there is an understanding that the rank and file of out- 
siders, amongst whom are included all those who pay 
less than £40 a year for their houses, all those whose 
occupations are obscure or ill-paid, all those who are 
new to the place and have come without necessary cre- 
dentials to a resident of eminence. As the profits of 
these entertainments are handed over to some local 
charity, the disadvantages of this sort of refinement 
need not be dwelt upon. At the approaching dance 
Lord Righton had promised to be present. He wanted, 
he said, to see what a dance of “ those sort o’ people 
don’t-cher-know ” was like. The promised presence of 
an heir to a peerage made the demand for tickets 
unprecedented. Everyone wanted to come — amongst 
them several Surbitonians of uncertain position — and 
the Lady Patronesses decided to refuse tickets right 
and left. “If,” they said, “we don’t keep it select, it 
will be such a dreadful thing for Lord Righton.” 

Florence and my mother were very busy. Each Lady 
Patroness had only a certain number of tickets to dis- 
pose of, and to save herself annoyance and to be able to 
refuse them to “ outsiders,” on the least offensive plea, 
my mother disposed of hers immediately. 

The Lyalls were away, and not expected back in time 
for the dance, so that Florence had not saved them any 
tickets. These were strictly limited in number, and 
were all disposed of except three in the possession of 
Mrs. Muirhead- Salter, wife of the eminent stock-broker, 
usually described by her acquaintances with satire as 
« too grand for the place.” To be too grand for Sur- 
biton was to be very grand indeed ! She was a good- 
looking woman of “ queenly demeanour,” as her friends 
said (her enemies described it differently), who insisted 
on her husband sending his own champagne to these 


40 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


gatherings, but which only her own “ set ” quaffed. She 
was also accustomed to stand at the end of the hall 
where the dances are- held, and to send forth her hus- 
band amongst the young men of the place to select her 
partners. 

“ My wife will be pleased to dance with you,” said 
her emissary to the dancing men, who esteemed it an 
honour to be thus patronized, and went up meekly in 
their turns to inscribe their names on her card. It 
was an imposing sight. The Muirhead-Salters and 
the Bailey-Martins moved in different cliques, only 
mingling on these occasions, entertaining all the while 
much ill-concealed jealousy, and never, when it could 
possibly be avoided, dancing in the same set. 

My mother was rather in awe of Mrs. Muirhead-Sal- 
ter, but Florence would not allow her to waver, and each 
family never missed an opportunity of passing a slight 
on the other. I used to ignore them and describe Mr. 
Muirhead- Salter, whose “ cheek ” was merely the pale 
reflection of his wife’s effrontery, as a “Stock Exchange 
Bounder.” But he had a good house, a large income, 
entertained lavishly, and their position in Surbiton was 
certainly as strong as ours. 

They were very jealous of our capture of Lord 
Righton, and could only offer in exchange a rather 
shady Baronet who had come to grief on the Turf, and 
who was reported to have borrowed some of Salter’s 
easily-earned money. 

Edith Lyall and her mother returned unexpectedly 
two days before the dance, and instead of applying to 
my mother, Edith was foolish enough to write to Mrs. 
Muirhead- Salter for tickets, having met the “ Queen of 
Sheba,” as we called her, once at a dance in London. 
Mrs. Salter knew Miss Lyall was a friend and school- 


MR . BAILEY-MA E TIN. 


41 


fellow of Florence. Here, therefore, was an opportu- 
nity of snubbing us not to be missed. Edith Lyall con- 
sequently received the following reply to her ill-advised 
request : “ Mrs. Muirbead- Salter presents her compli- 
ments to Miss Lyall, and regrets that she cannot let 
her have the tickets she requires, as she thinks it only 
just to keep them for her own friends.” Edith, with an 
angry flush in her face, brought the letter to Florence. 

“Of course she refused you,” said my sister when 
we were discussing the matter in the drawing-room. 
“ The Bailey-Martins and the Muirhead-Salters are the 
Montagues and Capulets of Surbiton. We go about 
biting our thumbs at one another. Percival calls them 
‘ Bounders,’ Mrs. Salter says I am ‘ bad form’ and vulgar, 
and won’t allow her young men to dance with me if 
she can help it. Mrs. Salter says ‘ Percival,’ is a ‘bump- 
tious Oxford boy,’ and describes Bob as ‘common.’ 
Papa shakes his head and declares ‘ Salter’s made his 
money in some shady transactions in copper.’ Now you 
have come between our family feuds, and this ” — hold- 
ing up the letter — “is the result.” 

“ What beastly cheek ! ” said Bob. 

“I don’t intend to put up with this,” said I, “Miss 
Lyall must go.” 

At this point my mother came in through the open 
window from the garden. The situation was ex- 
plained. 

“Oh, Miss Lyall!” she said, “how could you be so 
rash ? ” 

“Poor Edith had no idea of the savages she had 
fallen amongst, mamma,” said Florence. “ But now she 
has been scalped and her flowing locks hung in the 
Muirhead-Salters’ tent as a trophy, we must ‘ think on 
vengeance.’ ” 


42 


MR. BAILEY-MA B TIN. 


“How can you be so wicked to talk in that way, 
Florence?” said mamma. “Mrs. Salter has acted with 
gross rudeness and impropriety, hut I forgive her.” 

“ Of course you do, dear,” said my sister, laughing. 
“You wouldn’t pay her out for anything, I’m sure. 
But how about a ticket for Edith ? Everyone has been 
sold. Let her have yours, mamma. You can stay at 
home with papa, for I know you hate balls. The boys 
can look after Edith — who must come with us — and 
myself.” 

Finally this was arranged, and then Florence, Edith 
and I went round the garden. My indignation at 
Edith’s treatment was immense. “ I only wish,” said 
I, “ Mrs. Salter would send her husband to me to say, 
‘ My wife will be pleased to dance with you.’ ‘ Tell 
her,’ I’d say, ‘with my compliments, that I don’t 
dance out of my own set. ’ ” 

“ I don’t think you need be afraid,” said Florence ; 
“ Bob has a deeper scheme of vengeance. He intends 
to drink the Salters’ champagne by mistake and then 
to apologize. But these are extreme measures.” 

“ I’m sure I wish the Gov’nor would send some ‘ fizz ’ 
too,” said Bob, “ I don’t like dancing on sour claret cup ; 
why don’t you ask him, Florence ? ” 

“ For many reasons obscure to your vision, Robert,” 
she replied, “ but especially because if he did we should 
never be able to sneer any more at the Muirhead-Salters 
for doing it.” 

“ Shocking bad form, isn’t it, Miss Lyall ? ” said I. She 
was wearing a red cotton dress, and in the sunshine she 
seemed a very radiant being. I had never liked red 
before, but it seemed then to burn into the fragrant 
June air. 

“It is peculiar,” she said, “but after the ‘putting 


ME. BAILEY-MAETIN. 


43 


down ’ Mrs. Salter has given me you cannot expect me 
to be a fair critic of her manners.” 

“ What a sweet little Christian ! ” said Florence. 

“ How forgiving ! ” exclaimed I. “ Now do you know, 
Miss Lyall, I couldn’t forgive that woman ; I am deter- 
mined to pay her out.” 

“ I hope you won’t quarrel with her on my account,” 
said Miss Lyall. “ But I must he going.” 

“ I will see you home,” said I. 

She begged I would not trouble, but I insisted, and 
finally we walked down the road together, leaving 
Florence and Bob smiling after us from the gate. 

I knew to what I was exposing myself. To be seen 
walking with a lady at Surbiton is to run the risk of 
being described all over the place as an engaged couple. 
Engagements of this nature are as common as “ blazers ” 
on the river. I know some young ladies who in rumour 
have been engaged to every bachelor in the place. 

Whilst we were walking along the dusty road to- 
wards Boxtree Road, talking of the approaching dance, 
the improved state of Mrs. Lyall’s health, it struck me 
I had never heard anyone converse so sweetly. The 
distance was short, too short. It was pleasant to talk 
to Miss Lyall alone, I thought, away from Florence’s 
keen eyes. 

Now we were at the door. They were semi-detached 
houses with small gardens and — well, not such a house 
as I should like to live in. If the house had been a big 
and prosperous Surbiton mansion I should, I believe, 
have fallen in love with Miss Lyall at once — “let my- 
self go,” as it were, — but the sight of it and its little 
twin brother, with the young laburnum trees and ever- 
green shrubs put in by contract in the garden, clipped 
the wings of my budding fancy. Edith Lyall was 


44 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


beautiful enough to live in a palace, but why didn’t 
she? 

“ Thank you for seeing me home, Mr. Bailey-Martin,” 
she said. 

“ Thank you for — er — giving me the honour,” said I. 
“ But, Miss Lyall, will you dance with me to-morrow 
night?” 

“ Of course.” 

“ How many dances ? ” 

“As many as discretion allows you to take,” said 
she, smiling, “ for Florence tells me this is a most cen- 
sorious place.” 

“ Three,” said I, looking up at the house that sug- 
gested moderation. “ Three valses whenever I like to 
pick them.” 

“ Certainly,” said she ; “ you will hardly find any 
competitors, for I know nobody.” 

“ Florence will see you get plenty of partners. Good- 
bye, Miss Lyall.” 

Then the red cotton dress went up the narrow steps, 
the door opened and closed on it, and I went back to 
lunch, pondering. 

We were a little nervous lest Lord Righton should 
disappoint us. That he was going to honour the dance 
by his presence was known as far as Wimbledon. The 
Richmond people envied us. “ When he enters the 
room,” they said, maliciously, “ all Surbiton will kneel 
down.” This they considered an excellent jest. “ The 
idea of such a thing ! ” said my mother, when Florence 
told her of it. “ The idea of doing such a thing any- 
where but in a place of worship ! ” 

“ It’s a mere figure of speech, mamma,” said Florence. 

“I’ve no patience with such nonsense,” said my 
mother, indignantly ; “if Lord Righton heard of it he 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


45 


would fancy lie was going to a party in a lunatic asy- 
lum.” 

“ Well, there are worse entertainments than that,” 
said Florence. “ There is a local musical party for in- 
stance, or a boating party where the young men take 
their banjoes.” 

“ Percival,” said my father, “ you had better go up to 
town and see Lord Righton doesn’t forget the promise 
he gave you. You can have the horses.” 

The next morning, therefore, I drove up to town, 
and found Righton, as I expected, on the point of lunch- 
ing at the Celibate Club. 

“ You haven’t forgotten your promise about the 
dance to-night, Righton ? ” said I. 

“ ’Pon my honour, Martin, but I had,” he replied, 
“ my mem’ry’s beastly.” 

“Well, I’ll drive you back after lunch,” said I, to 
make sure of him and to prevent any of his other ac- 
quaintances catching him to take him to the Gaiety, 
the Alhambra, or a music hall, places of amusement 
appealing strongly to his tastes. 

Then, having sent a telegram to his man ordering 
him to bring down his things to my father’s, I drove 
him home. 

“ I suppose you put on dress clothes for these par- 
ties of yours, Martin ? ” said he. 

This was mere ignorance on his part, not, as some 
people would imagine, patrician impertinence. 

“ Of course,” said I. “ And you can wear a ‘ button- 
hole,’ as big as a haystack too if you like.” 

“Well, let’s stop and send another wire to Perkins 
to bring me one down,” said he. We stopped in the 
Fulham Road for the purpose. “ For,” said Righton as 
we started again, “ I should like to do the c’rect thing. 


46 


3 / 2 ?. BAILE Y-MA R TIN. 


If you chaps wear big bouquets like my mother’s foot- 
men when she used to go to a Drawing-room, I’ll do 
the same.” 

I was strongly tempted to send Edith Lyall a bou- 
quet, but the family discretion prevailed. Women 
always attribute a meaning to that sort of thing. 

Whilst we were driving over Wimbledon Common 
I thought it wise to introduce Righton in anticipation 
to my family. 

“ I think you will like my father,” I said, “he’s quite 
a decent old chap ; and my mother’s a great affection 
for you because you introduced me into your set at 
Oxford. They are quiet sort of people, and dislike 
‘ swagger ’ and all that sort of thing.” 

“ Oh, don’t apologize for them,” said Righton, in his 
usual blundering way ; “ I can get along with anybody. 
Have you any sisters, Martin? You look one of those 
rosy-gilled chaps who ought to have pretty sisters.” 

“ Rosy-gilled chaps ! ansemic little cad,” I thought, 
but then I remembered he meant it all civilly enough. 
Matthew Arnold labelled our aristocracy barbarians. 
Righton was merely one of them. 

“ Y es, I have a sister and a younger brother. Florence 
is considered pretty, I believe, and is certainly clever.” 

“ Clever, is she ? ” said Righton. “ That’s like my 
sister Gertrude. I b’lieve you’ve seen her, Martin. 
Well, she ain’t pretty, as you know, but she’s doosid in- 
tellectual. She can’t stand me at any price, because 
I’m not lit’r’y and scientific and all that. She’s lately 
taken up a new religion and wanted to explain it all 
to me. I wasn’t going to be bored with it, so I told 
her the old one was good enough for me. She’s been 
deploring my levity and ignorance, as she called it, 
ever since.” 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN . 


47 


“ Science isn’t in your line, Righton,” said I, as we 
stopped at our house, whence to my mortification I be- 
held my father issuing to welcome his guest. On the 
top of the steps overlooking the garden was my mother, 
in her handsomest black brocaded dress. They had 
evidently been watching for our arrival. 

“ They are old-fashioned people,” I said, “ and wel- 
come you in an old-fashioned manner.” 

Righton looked on in the feebly amused manner 
habitual to him, with his mouth slightly opened, that 
gave a still more uncertain outline to his sloping 
chin. 

“ This, Lord Righton,” said my father, shaking him 
warmly by the hand, “is an honour we have long 
looked to. Let me help you to descend.” 

For Righton still sat in the phaeton, from which he 
got down leisurely. 

Then he walked into the house. 

“My dear Lord Righton,” exclaimed my mother, 
“ delighted beyond measure to see you. Percival has 
told us of your goodness to him.” 

“How de do?” said Righton. “Very kind, I’m 
sure. Capital 4 gees ’ those of yours. Nice drive from 
Town. Expect my man down by train with my traps. 
Nice pleasant place you’ve got here, to be sure, Mr. 
Martin.” 

My parents seemed relieved at Righton’s condescen- 
sion. But I thought it wise to rescue him, for the 
sight was not quite agreeable to filial eyes. If I left 
them I knew they would more easily recover from the 
excitement of his visit. I had expected the honour 
would overwhelm them. 

“ Come and look round the garden and have a ciga- 
rette, Righton,” I said, and I led him through the 


48 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


French windows of the drawing-room on to the lawn 
beyond. 

“ Very kind chap, your gov’nor, Martin,” said he ; “I 
thought he wanted to lift me out of the phaeton.” 

Then we talked “ Oxford ” for a quarter of an hour, 
when I saw Florence enter the drawing-room and I 
took him back into the house for a cup of tea. 

Righton was struck, as I anticipated, by my sis- 
ter’s beauty, and she went through the introduction 
with as much coolness as though she had lived in 
an environment of peers’ sons. Florence I knew 
would hold her own; Florence was certainly good 
form. 

“ Do you take milk and sugar ? ” she asked, as in- 
differently as though it had been young Brown or any 
other of our neighbours. 

Then we began to talk of theatres, a fairly safe sub- 
ject to commence with. 

“ Give me a ‘ rousing ’ burlesque,” said Righton ; 
“ that’s what I like.” 

“ You are a capital judge,” said I. 

Then the artless youth told us all about his favourite 
actresses. Lottie somebody-or-the-other — I forget her 
name — he described as “ a clipper.” 

“ I went three times last w~eek, Miss Martin,” said 
he, “ to see her dance. I did, ’pon my word.” 

“ That is the strongest evidence of her talent,” said 
my sister. 

“ You mustn’t fancy, to hear me go on,” said he, 
“ that I’m ‘ mashed ’ on her like the other Johnnies. 
She’s off to America soon, and I shouldn’t wonder if 
a lot of them didn’t follow her there.” 

Here Robert entered and was presented to Righton, 
who received him affably. Robert was a little nervous 


ME. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


49 


and relieved liis feelings occasionally by an unnecessary 
clearance of his throat, till Florence said : 

“ I am afraid, Robert, you must be sitting in a 
draught,” upon which he took the opportunity of escap- 
ing into the garden. As a rule, Bob was perfectly free 
from shyness. I have known him carry on a conversa- 
tion of a playfully amorous nature before a crowd of 
dashing young city men at a luncheon bar, but prox- 
imity to a lord filled him with awe. Poor Bob ! he 
never had my advantages. It is in these matters train- 
ing tells. Florence was different. She pretended she 
was a radical, and chattered away with Lord Righton 
with so much ease that when we went up to dress he 
said to me quite enthusiastically : 

“ I say, Martin, what 4 snap ’ your sister has got ! and 
how she must 4 mash ’ all your local 4 Johnnies ’ ! ” 

4 


CHAPTER V. 


We were a pleasant little family party at dinner. 
Edith Lyall helped my sister to keep the conversation 
going. My mother was a little over-anxious, and said 
twice in the course of the repast that she hoped 44 the 
Earl and Countess were well.” 

“ A 1,” said the young nobleman. 

When the ladies were gone, my father told Lord 
Righton that he doubted if the Earl, his father, could 
give him a better glass of claret than that which “ you 
are doing nie the honour, my lord, to drink at my 
table.” 

“ You bet your boots he can’t,” said Righton. “ His 
tipple’s limited in quantity and quality. Why, my 
mother — she’s Low Church and that-sort-o’-thing — 
is a Bishop’s daughter, you know,” — my father nodded 
reverentially, “ she’d pin a bit of blue in my button -hole 
if I’d let her. 4 Look at your father,’ she said to me 
the other day when we were talking about the tem- 
p’rance question — she did most of the talking though 
— 4 look at your father. Why, his ancestors have been 
accumulating gout by centuries of intemp’rance.’ 
That,” he continued, turning to me, 44 is the worst of 
having a genealogical tree to boast of. You always 
feel it in your toe. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ” 

And he tossed off a bumper of my father’s La Rose 
with the air of a man admiring his own wit. 

50 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


51 


“ Ho ! ho ! ho ! feel it in your toe, capital ! ” roared 
Bob, whom wine had warmed into his wonted famil- 
iarity and ease. 

“Yes, ain’t it good?” ejaculated Righton. “But it 
hasn’t reached my toe yet, so, until it does, I’ll polish 
off any man’s liquor that’s worth drinking.” 

And when we joined the ladies he had taken more 
of my father’s than was good for him. 

Then the carriage came and we started for the dance, 
Robert being accommodated with a seat on the box. 
Righton was a little sleepy during the drive, but woke 
up when we reached the Assembly Rooms. 

I had timed our arrival to a nicety. The first valse 
was just finished, and most of the people had arrived. 
When we appeared I could detect a slight murmur in 
the crowd. “ Here they are ! ” it seemed to say. The 
young ladies began to plume themselves, and everyone, 
with the exception of the “ Queen of Sheba,” her hus- 
band, her court, and her battered Baronet, moved to- 
wards our end of the room. Lord Righ ton’s appearance, 
I fancy, slightly disappointed them. Outwardly there 
was not much of the aristocrat about him. 

“ Great Scott ! ” said he, — his lordship had made a 
tour in America and was proud of any tag of New- 
W orld slang he could intermingle with his conversation, 
— “ there are some ‘ clippers ’ here, Miss Martin, but 
you and Miss Lyall certainly ‘ take the cake.’ ” 

Righton had been inscribing his name on their cards, 
whilst the young ladies of “ our set,” as yet not intro- 
duced, looked on wistfully. 

That evening was a social triumph for me. The other 
cliques were green with jealousy ; all the men envied 
me, and the young ladies longed for introductions to 
the affable little lord, rotating in rapid deux temps 


52 


MB. BAILE Y-MA B TIN. 


with my sister, who overtopped him by nearly the whole 
of her graceful head. 

Robert was dancing with Edith Lyall, and I stood in 
the midst of a throng of friends, on some of whom I 
promised to confer the honour of an introduction to 
“ my friend Righton.” As an undertone to the buzz 
of the crowded room, I could hear the people discuss- 
ing him. 

“ He’s dancing, deux temps .” 

“ The Prince always dances deux temps .” 

“ He doesn’t look up to much.” 

“ He hasn’t a silk collar to his coat.” 

“ He doesn’t know the ‘ Queen of Sheba’s ’ Baronet.” 

“ Of course not. The Bart.’s bad form and dropped 
out of the best sets long ago.” 

Meanwhile the “ Queen of Sheba ” danced a majestic 
trois temps with Sir Lucius Chump at her own end of 
the room, with an air of affected indifference to every- 
thing, including our triumph, which I knew was worm- 
wood and gall to her, and of utter oblivion to all 
moving beyond the immediate, circle in which she con- 
descended to revolve. I marked her meeting with 
Miss Lyall. Two icebergs crossing in polar seas on 
different currents could not have been more chillily 
unconscious of each other’s presence. Mr. Muirliead- 
Salter and his small surrounding of his wife’s partners 
looked on at the opposite corner of the room to that which 
our party had annexed, a little dejected, knowing their 
Queen had been cut out, and feeling that for that even- 
ing, at least, their glory, like hers, had departed. But 
was I quite happy ? I felt my eyes following Edith, 
as it seemed, against their will. I had only asked her 
for three dances, which she had graciously given. 
Discretion bid me take no more, but another feeling, 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


53 


the opposite to discretion, had inclined me strongly to 
claim as many as I could. I was inwardly jealous of 
Robert twirling her round the room, with the flush of 
pleasure the absurd exercise brought on her cheeks. 
Her soft gray eyes were gleaming, and her bright 
brown hair shone with a sort of lustre for me amongst 
the heads of all the other women, and I watched it 
moving like a strange beacon. Bah ! I was young ; she 
was, I thought, beautiful ; and when my turn to dance 
with her came, and the scent of her hair and the roses 
she wore — roses which I might have given her! — 
floated up around me, my heart swung backwards and 
forwards with a movement all the bumping races, all 
the consolation cups I had won, could never produce. 
By this time her card was full. Two young men, 
minions of Mr. Muirhead- Salter, had actually been 
tempted to throw off their allegiance, and beg intro- 
ductions to her. 

“ Dance with them,” Florence had whispered ; •“ they 
are slaves of the ‘ Queen of Sheba.’ ” 

The valse with Edith delighted me. Round, round 
and round we whirled amongst a ripple of revolving 
heads. Every now and then I saw Righton, twisting, 
with rough hair and moist, pasty face, still with Flor- 
ence, who had, I learnt, some difficulty in guiding him, 
for he was an erratic valser — such as wander from 
their orbit and dance themselves into a breathless heap 
on to the spacious laps of chaperones on the red rout 
seats. 

I took Miss Lyall to the refreshment room when the 
dance was ended. 

“ I saw you cut Mrs. Salter,” said I. “ It was nobly 
done. Now you have captured two squires of her train, 
your vengeance will be complete.” 


54 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


At the other encl of the room was the “ pop, pop,” 
of champagne corks. The “ Queen,” her husband and 
courtiers were standing round a servant who was fill- 
ing their glasses. 

The other dancers were refreshing themselves with 
the mildest claret cup, which they quaffed in affected 
oblivion to the foaming goblets of the clique. The two 
young men who had been introduced to Miss Lyall 
stood apart like mutineers who have forfeited their 
rights. 

“Did ever anyone see such execrable taste?” ex- 
claimed Miss Lyall. 

“Shocking, isn’t it?” said I. 

Then Florence and Lord Righton entered the room. 
My sister joined us, but the sudden popping of a cork 
attracted her partner’s attention, who darted off in the 
direction of the sound before she could attempt to 
check him. 

Pushing his way through the circle of champagne- 
drinkers and armed with a glass, “ I say, you,” he said 
to the servant, “ give me some 4 cham-pop ’ quick, for 
I’m just parched ! ” 

Mrs. Muirhead- Salter turned so red that all her rouge 
was quenched, her husband remained speechless with 
astonishment, their friends smiled, and we all pretended 
not to see the comic little error. 

The servant filled his glass in silence. Heedless of 
his mistake, Righton tossed it off with an air of satis- 
faction and then rejoined us. 

“Isay, Miss Martin,” he said to my sister, “ jes’ let me 
get you some of that 4 cham-pop ; ’ it’s capital. That’s 
the stuff to dance on , 4 cham-pop ’ and plenty of it ! ” 

44 What have you done?” said Florence in a low 
voice and with affected dismay. 44 The champagne you 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


55 


have been drinking is the private beverage of Mr. and 
Mrs. Salter. This is a charity dance and we cannot 
afford to supply champagne. They send theirs because 
they want to keep up their spirits.” 

“Well, I’m bio wed ! ” exclaimed High ton. “Here’s 
a go 1” 

The situation tickled him and he laughed. 

“ A most natural mistake to make,” said Miss Lyall. 

“Shall I apologise?” cried Righton. 

“ Well, you know best,” said I, hoping he would. 

“ I think it’s best let alone,” said he, grinning. “ I 
shouldn’t know what to say ! If I want some more 
I suppose I shall have to ask for it. But you people 
do have some rummy customs of your own.” 

At this reflection Florence laughed very heartily. A 
few minutes after the whole room knew Lord Righton 
had drunk Mr. Salter’s champagne and everyone was 
amused. The next day I heard that she had declared 
her intention of never attending that dance again. 
The people were so deplorably common, she was re- 
ported to have said, and Lord Righton had the manners 
of a stable-boy. 

When we drove home that evening I felt proud of 
my success. In my usual manner I silently enumerated 
the advantages it had brought. Righton was struck 
with my sister’s vivacity and beauty. This opened 
vague possibilities of future triumph on which my 
imagination loved to dwell. W ere Florence’s thoughts, 
I wondered, drifting towards the same goal? Next 
came the social triumphs on which I have sufficiently 
dwelt. They bring, it is true, no lasting advantage, but 
their enjoyment for the time is keen — very keen. As 
we drove home in the morning dawn, with the scent 
of distant hay-fields drifting across the placid river 


56 


MR. BA ILEY-MAR TIN. 


through the carriage windows, and the sound of 
awakening thrushes in the air, Edith’s face and figure 
gradually loomed through the dusk, solemn and quiet 
after the fatigue of the dance. 

Her dress touched my knees, and I saw she had 
removed the gloves from her slender fingers. This 
picture mixed with my more ambitious musings with- 
out coalescing with them. “ What are you thinking 
of, Percival Bailey-Martin ? ” something seemed to say. 
“ Edith Lyall has hardly a penny ; and beauty — well — 
after all you can do without beauty.” But, oh ! how 
sweet the hay smelt in the dawn of that summer 
morning. 

“ How the thrushes sing ! ” said Edith Lyall. 

“ Dissipated little dicky-birds ! They’ve not been to 
bed,” said the young lord, who had no more sentiment 
in him than a statue of George IV. 

“You must not use your satirical gifts so lavishly, 
Lord Iiighton,” said my sister; “even the early birds 
can’t escape.” 

“ I say, Martin,” said he to me, “ your sister’s been 
sitting on me all the evening. She says she hopes the 
House of Lords won’t be abolished before I come into 
the title, ’cos it’s a pity such gifts as mine should be 
wasted. Ho ! ho ! ho ! I ain’t an orator, Miss Martin, 
but not nearly such a silly sort o’ snipe as you think.” 

Florence evidently regarded him as an irresponsible 
being, and he accepted the ridiculous position quite 
complacently. 

“ You don’t do yourself justice,” she replied. “ You 
are like Falstafl: — intellectually only, of course — not 
only witty yourself but the cause of wit in others. 
But, O dear, I wish I was in bed ! ” 

We stopped at Miss Lyall’s house and I opened the 


MR. B AIL E Y- M A R TIN. 


57 


door with the latch-key she gave me. “ Thank you all 
for a pleasant evening,” she said, giving me her hand. 
“ You have all been kind, and I am sorry it is over.” 

What a soft palm it was ! 

“ And you, Miss Lyall,” I said, “ have added to my 
pleasure, and made to-night one I shall always remem- 
ber.” 

I seemed to be speaking in spite of myself. Our eyes 
met for a moment, she gave another smile towards the 
carriage, and then the door closed behind her. 

“ Don’t be a fool and make soft speeches,” said an 
inward monitor to me — the tutelary deity of the family 
always ready to prompt me, but who sometimes speaks 
after the indiscretion it is his duty to prevent has been 
committed. Yet the warning voice all the same could 
not prevent me from missing her. 


CHAPTER VI. 


The first thought that came into my mind when I 
awoke was of Edith Lyall on her doorstep in the dawn. 
This thought had, in obedience to the laws of prudence, 
to be dismissed. The next was of Lord Righton and 
my sister. She had undoubtedly made an impression 
on him. How deep this might be I could not tell. 
Here was an opportunity which ought not to be wasted. 
Unfortunately I was not sure of Florence. Personally 
Righton was not an ideal lover. lie was short; he 
was pasty ; he had fat round shoulders and no neck. 
Moreover, at the rate his hair was disappearing from 
his slanting forehead, premature baldness awaited him. 
I admit his physical assets as well as his intellect- 
ual ones were of no value in the market. But then 
Righton would be a peer of the realm. With twenty- 
nine women in the world this would outweigh any phy- 
sical disadvantage. Only the most foolish school-girls, 
unconsciously preparing for themselves tedious lives of 
perpetual maidenhood, run about the world waiting for 
the impossible young man built on their own ideal 
lives, who never arrives. Lancelots are not commonly 
met with in suburban society, yet the most enter- 
prising young women manage to get married all the 
same. In the nineteenth century it isn’t wise to leave 
all the wooing to the men. Fortunately most girls are 
aware of this. But as I have said before, quoting my 
58 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


59 


mother, Florence was peculiar. So far Lord Righton 
had only succeeded in appealing to her sense of the 
ludicrous. 

When I went down to breakfast, Bob and my father 
had gone to town and my mother was waiting to pour 
out my tea — an office which generally enabled us to 
have a few moments’ conversation alone. 

“No signs of Righton?” said I. 

“None. His man is at present getting his lordship 
up. I asked if he would like some tea, and his man 
said his lordship would prefer some brandy and soda 
water. So that has been sent him. But tell me about 
the ball, Percival.” 

“ It went off capitally. We 4 scored ’ all along the 
line. The Muirhead- Salters will both he ill with envy 
this morning, and Righton danced with Florence nearly 
all the evening.” 

“ Did he ? What an honour for the dear child ! ” 

“Yes, mother. I hope she will appreciate it.” 

“ Appreciate it indeed ! why, of course she will. She 
is no fool. None of my children are, I am thankful to 
say. If Lord Righton pays her attention she will have 
sense enough to make the best of it.” 

“Will she? Well, I hope so. She’s a little too 
fond of taking what she thinks is a comic view of 
things.” 

“ That is Florence’s failing. She is the only one of 
you who makes jokes. They are, I believe, considered 
good by people who like that sort of thing, but I have 
my misgivings. I’m sure I can’t tell from which side 
of the family her humour came. Not from mine, I’m 
sure. We were all very sober people, and your grand- 
father Bailey was a chapel-goer, and the Martins were 
all steady sort of people.” 


60 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


But I had no desire to hear of my dissenting ances- 
tors. 

“ Florence is fond of saying smart things, but men 
don’t care to marry women who can laugh at them,” 
said. I, thinking my mother might give Florence a hint. 
I knew she would outwardly laugh at it, but on which 
it was possible she might inwardly act. 

“ Florence would never laugh at any young man who 
entertained a feeling of regard — I may say affection — 
towards her. Ah, Percival, if we could see you all 
comfortably settled, your father and I would be quite 
happy.” 

But my sister’s arrival on the scene put an end to the 
conversation. 

“ Good-morning, mamma, good-morning, Percival. 
His little lordship not down yet ? ” 

“ Lord Righton prefers to breakfast in his room,” said 
my mother, with dignity, as though such a preference 
were a mark of distinction. 

“ How amiable of him ! He was quite confidential 
last night, Percival, and told me all about the One But- 
ton Club. Such orgies, mamma ! But I am under prom- 
ise of secrecy. 4 Don’t split on your brother,’ quoth his 
lordship, ‘ or his gov’ner will stop his allowance,’ — he 
called it ‘ ’lowance,’ because it was just after dinner. 
He told me all about your initiatory ceremony too, 
Percival.” 

“ He was only * gassing ’ to amuse you,” said I ; “ you 
got on capitally.” 

“ Yes,” said Florence, “ he amused me. Lord Righton 
put me in mind of Foker in 4 Pendennis.’ He told me 
of all his love affairs with the ladies who dance in the 
ballets. 4 Not one of them,’ he said, ‘was a patch’ on 
me.” 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


61 


44 His lordship was making game of my little girl,” 
said mamma. “ She mustn’t let her little head be turned 
though.” 

My mother followed my sister’s rapid conventional 
flights with the most lax attention. It happened gener- 
ally that before she found time to blame any sentiment 
Florence was several “ laps ” on ahead. Her references 
to John were Greek to my mother and prevented her 
detecting the flippancy of my sister’s tone. 

But there was a shuffling step at the door, and 
Rigliton made his appearance in a check suit of some 
splendour. 

“ Great Scott ! ” said he, “Miss Florence, you look as 
fresh as paint. Ha ! ha ! ha ! It wouldn’t do to tell all 
the girls that ; they would take it as a personal insult. 
How de do, Mrs. Martin. How are you, Martin ? ” 

“My dear Lord Righton,” said my mother, “ won’t 
you have some breakfast ? ” 

“No more breakfast, thanks,” said he, “ my man 
brought me up all I want; ain’t much of a hand at 
breakfast. Hope I sha’n’t put you off your feed, Miss 
Martin?” 

“ Not in the least,” said Florence, “ I’m not a horse.” 

“ I say, Martin,” said he turning to me, “ that w~as 
4 one ’ for me, eh ? ” 

My mother smiled kindly the while, apparently 
pleased with the manners of the aristocracy. “ You’ll 
stay the day with us, Righton ? ” said I. 

44 I’m afraid,” said he; “I’ve an engagement to 
dine.” 

He looked towards my sister as though waiting for 
her to express a wish on the subject. 

44 Do stay, Lord Righton,” said my mother, 44 it is a 
treat to have you.” 


62 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


“ You never mind breaking an engagement,” said I. 
“ Drop this one, and spend a quiet evening with us. 
I’ll drive you up to-morrow after breakfast.” 

“ If you do, you will find it very dull after the Celi- 
bate Club,” said Florence. 

44 Even that ain’t all fireworks,” said he, a little sul- 
lenly. “ Thank ye, Mrs. Martin, I don’t think I ought 
to chuck up an engagement even for the pleasure of 
making Miss Martin laugh at me.” 

“You are too kind, Lord Righton, you are indeed,” 
said my mother, effusively, although her words had 
some vagueness of application. 

“ But what are you going to do this morning, Miss 
Martin?” Righton asked, turning to my sister, who 
only raised her eyebrows at his last remark. 

“ I am going to Kingston market to buy some 
flowers,” she answered. 

“A capital idea,” interposed I. “We’ll come too. 
It’s rather an amusing sight, Righton. Quite conti- 
nental. The whole place turns out there about half- 
past twelve. Put on your hat, Florence.” 

I took Righton into the garden, and gave him a 
cigarette and as much flattery as I could “ rub in ” to 
restore his good temper. I candidly believe he was 
astonished that my sister did not fall in love with him 
off-hand. “ I don’t know what you find,” he once had 
said to me, “ but I can never talk to a girl for five min- 
utes without 4 mashing ’ her.” 

Now, here . was one upon whom his attractions had 
no visible effect and it made him pensive. I saw, how- 
ever, that my sister could not have chosen a better 
means of leading him on. 

People, I believe, come from a distance to see Kings- 
ton market, and when the sun shines the sight is 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


63 


picturesque. The “ blazers ” of the boating men lend 
it variety and colour. Then it affords people such an 
excellent chance of cutting one another that it is sure 
to be popular. 

To march Lord Righton through the throng of Sur- 
bitonians was to add to the triumph of the previous 
evening. There was Mrs. Muirhead- Salter sitting 
haughtily in her victoria with the C. springs, exchang- 
ing greetings with her friends, supercilious stares with 
her enemies, lavishly purchasing the best flowers with 
a “ blow-the-expense ” sort of air. She pretended she 
did not see us. 

“ He ! he ! he ! ” sniggered Righton, “ I drank her 
champagne last night.” 

We were all laughing at the recollection of this inci- 
dent when we passed her. Then we stopped before 
the flower stall, where Righton bought Florence the 
biggest bouquet of roses he could procure. If you 
want to please Florence, you need only give her a 
bunch of roses. The smell and colour always seem to 
exhilarate her. In a few minutes, she was in the high- 
est spirits. I dropped behind to speak to an Oxford 
man who happened to turn up. Whilst pretending to 
listen to his prosings about the ’Varsity match and 
the new “ Blues,” I watched Righton and my sister 
moving from stall to stall, and I could see that every 
remark she made increased his amusement. Strange! 
I confess I never found Florence’s society diverting, 
but its effect on Righton was surprising. There were 
several members of the Celibate Club who prided 
themselves on the possession of wit, but their most 
carefully prepared funny stories often evoke nothing 
from Righton but a “ dessay, it’s very funny if you 
could only see it.” But Florence made him laugh with 


G4 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


so much spontaneity and vigour, that people looked 
round to see who it was. 

Market places have always been famous for unex- 
pected meetings. For suddenly we came face to face 
with Lambert, who had been to school with Righton 
and myself at old Bland’s. He was a year or two my 
senior, had passed through Sandhurst into the army, 
and gone out to India with his regiment. I had seen 
him several times in London. He looked very brown, 
stalwart and soldierly now. 

“ What ! Bailey-Martin, how you have grown to 
be sure, as the nurses say. And you, Righton, too, 
under his respectable wing. It’s quite like old times.” 

Then seeing for the first time that a lady was with 
us — my sister having stayed to speak to a stall-keeper 
— he apologised. 

I introduced him to Florence, and then we all turned 
to walk back. I managed that Florence and Righton 
should pair off together, Lambert and I following. 

At any other time, I should have been pleased to see 
Arthur Lambert. The Lamberts are a good family. 
Unfortunately old General Lambert, the father, had 
little more than his pension, and his son, I should 
fancy, a very trifling allowance beyond his pay. Just 
now he was in the way. No one could fail to observe 
that Lord Righton appeared a very sorry shambler, 
when he was next to a young soldier six feet high, as 
straight as a dart, and bronzed by three years of an 
Indian sun. Florence was fond of making comparisons, 
and this one must have struck her. Women never 
take men as they are — at least the cleverer ones do 
not — but arrive at their conclusions by a silent process 
of comparison. Perhaps, this is why so few of them 
are perfectly satisfied with those husbands to whom 


MR. BAILE Y-MARTIN. 


65 


accident has allied them, and enter promptly on the 
task of trying to make the “ best of them.” This is 
not quite the idea of life taught us by sentimental 
novels where ladies come across the ideal man with 
tedious certainty, but experience has taught me it is 
pretty true. 

Whilst we were walking home, I observed Florence 
had ceased to amuse Righton, and had grown thought- 
ful ; meanwhile, I was uncertain whether I should invite 
Lambert to lunch. He had called that morning, he 
told me, at the barracks at Hampton Court, where a 
friend was stationed, but had missed him for some rea- 
son which he explained but I forget. 

“ Quite delightful to see you here on your native 
heath, Bailey-Martin,” he said, in his good-natured ban- 
tering way that had so often irritated me at school. 
“ I was wondering what I should do, and now I have 
the advantage of your instructive conversation.” 

Lambert’s tone decided me. There was nothing to 
be gained by inviting him to lunch. He might, it is 
true, introduce me to his friend in the Lancers, which 
might lead to something, but I was convinced he would 
be in the w~ay and annoy Lord Righton by chaffing 
him — for Lambert was no respecter of persons. 

I was unfortunately debarred from snubbing him, as 
his impertinence deserved, by my mother, whose per- 
spicuity is not so keen as she and my father believe. 
We ran against her on the parade, where she takes 
moderate pedestrian exercise for an hour daily. 

Righton and Florence were a few yards ahead, and 
the latter had evidently informed her mother who 
Lambert was, for she at once introduced herself. 

“ I have,” she said, “heard my boy speak of you, Mr. 
Lambert, and I hope you will come and lunch with us.” 


66 


MB. BA 1LEY-MA 11 TIX. 


Alas, for the mistakes committed by some people 
who deem their worldly wisdom infallible ! How 
fatuous a thing it is for a woman who has a pretty 
daughter to invite a penniless handsome soldier to the 
house ! Yet my poor mother blundered into this with 
a placid self-satisfaction that almost makes me swear 
when I recall it. 

Lambert accepted the invitation with alacrity. 

“ I am always,” she added, “ so delighted to see any 
of my son’s friends.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


Lord Rigiiton sat next to my sister at lunch, and 
at first my mother monopolised Lambert’s attention 
with an interesting account of my health when a child, 
which he heard with an air of becoming gravity and 
interest. I had been, he remembered, always delicate 
as a boy, and he had persuaded me, as I no doubt re- 
membered, to try cod-liver oil. “ In fact, I believe,” he 
said, “ Percival took it regularly when he visited Lord 
Rigiiton.” 

But my mother had never heard of the incident. 

“ She never gave it to her children,” she informed 
him, because she did not “ hold with it.” Beyond an 
occasional tonic and perhaps a dose of magnesia in the 
spring, we had never had much medicine.” 

Poor mother ! she never knew how great a strain 
she used to put on my patience. The difficulties in 
such a family as ours — and I think our case is typical 
amongst the well-to-do middle classes— is for parents 
and children to perceive that the two planes in which 
they move are not identical. I discovered their dif- 
ference when I was twelve years old, but here was my 
mother on the verge of sixty totally unconscious of it, 
and discussing the medicine of my youth with a fatuous 
young nobleman and a satirical soldier. 

“Your children, Mrs. Martin,” said Lambert, “do 
you credit.” 


67 


68 


MR. BA ILE Y-MA II TIN. 


But Florence shut him up. 

“ I am glad,” she said, “ to find we meet with your 
approval.” 

“ He ! he ! he ! ” sniggered Righton ; “ Lambert fancies 
he’s inspecting you both, and he will want to see your 
kits d’rectly .” 

But Lambert took Florence’s snubbing with great 
good humour. He seemed rather to enjoy it. 

“ That’s right,” he said, “ you knocked me down very 
neatly, and then Right-on jumped on me. I deserve my 
punishment.” 

“ Lambert was an awful fellow at school, you know, 
Miss Martin,” said Righton, “ and was always pulling 
a chap’s leg ; I’ll bet my bottom dollar he won’t try it 
on with you again.” 

Righton’s slang metaphor was unfortunate in its 
application ; and the idea occurred to him ; for, seeing 
Lambert’s eyebrows raised, he added, — 

“ I beg your pardon, Miss Martin, but you’ll guess 
what I mean.” 

“ Perfectly,” said she, “ you mean that Mr. Lambert 
is a satirist who likes employing his valuable gifts.” 

“ Hallo, Lambert,” said Righton, turning to him 
maliciously, “ you see Miss Martin’s taken your meas- 
ure.” 

“ I am afraid so,” he answered, smiling. 

To my great annoyance, after this little passage of 
arms Lambert commenced to make himself interesting. 
The conversation turned on India, and Florence, whose 
curiosity is great where ignorance in a fashionable 
woman is no disadvantage, commenced to draw him out 
with her usual skill. Lambert had seen a good deal of 
soldiering for his years. He had served in Burmah; 
he had served in a campaign against some Hill Tribe, of 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


69 


whose existence I had never heard ; he had been sta- 
tioned at Peshawur and made an excursion into Afghan- 
istan. He had accompanied a Lieutenant-Governor 
on a shooting expedition into the Terai, and had con- 
tributed an article entitled “Proposed organization 
of the Independent Native Forces,” to that leading 
Review “The Sky Rocket.” 

I do not think he had any desire to monopolize the 
conversation at lunch, hut Florence took care the 
principal part of it should fall to his share. Lord 
Righton, with his feeble chatter about the last song 
and dance at the Hilarity, and the latest gossip from 
the Celibate Club, was obviously at a disadvantage. 

The devil was in it ! Why on earth did my mother 
insist on inviting this fellow to lunch. Here was 
Righton looking bored ! To get a swell of his calibre 
to stop with you and to find him looking bored be- 
cause your sister forgets to amuse him is a terrible 
waste of an opportunity. Directly lunch was over I 
hurried off both men to smoke in the garden, in order 
to put an end to Lambert’s innings at the luncheon- 
table. 

“Lambert thinks himself a devilish fascinating 
Johnnie,” muttered Righton to me, “because he’s been 
bullying a lot o’ bloomin’ niggers.” 

“ So he does,” said I. “ How he bored poor Florence.” 

“ Did he though ? ” said he ; “then she concealed her 
feelings better than I can.” Righton was jealous. I 
should have been glad of this result under other 
circumstances, but Florence had done her best to be 
agreeable to Lambert with no “ulterior motive,” as 
the Law-court reporters say. If she had tried this 
game on as a piece of feminine diplomacy I should have 
recognized in her an ally in the conquest of Righton. 


70 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


Unfortunately, I could see slie was indifferent whether 
he were pleased or vexed. Lambert went soon after 
lunch, but my mother, seconded by my sister, pressed 
him to call again. 

With some difficulty I induced High ton to stay 
another night with us, but it was not a success. My 
father bored him at dinner under the impression he 
was making himself agreeable. Bob won a couple of 
pounds from him at pyramids, a game at which the 
former “ fancies ” his play and at which the latter 
excels, and Florence informed him she considered 
Lambert the most interesting man she had met for a 
long time. 

This to Righton ! who cannot endure to hear a pretty 
woman praise any other man but himself. 

I was much vexed of course. I asked Bob, privately, 
what he meant by beating Righton at pyramids. 

“ On my word, Percival,” said he, quite crestfallen, 
“ I couldn’t help it ; he couldn’t put a ball in. T 
wouldn’t ‘rook ’ him for the world.” 

I was too cross to argue with Bob, whom I had never 
seen playing better, so I only told him I wished for the 
future he would confine his skill to his own friends 
and not try it on mine in his father’s house. 

But he lit his pipe and said he would take care he 
did not, if they were all so “ shirty ” over a trifling 
matter of “ two quid ” ! 

Bob always took a mercenary view of things and was 
quite unable to see that Righton’s annoyance was 
caused by his defeat before my sister, not for the loss 
of his money. 

When Righton left next morning, however, he was 
amiable enough, and told my mother he hoped to look 
us up again. 


MB. BAIL E Y-MA B TIN. 


71 


On my return from the station, where I had accom- 
panied Righton, I found Florence reading a magazine 
in the garden. 

“ So you’ve seen your little friend safely off,” said 
she. 

“ I wouldn’t laugh at him,” I replied, “ if I were 
you, since he does you the honour to admire you.” 

“ That is indeed an honour ! Lord Righton’s taste in 
such matters is so catholic. There is no prejudice 
about him. He admires — let me see, who doesn’t he 
admire ? There is Baby Hilton, who dances at the 
Hilarity. She is a ‘clipper.’ Tossie de Vere, who 
performs at the Universe, is as smart as they make 
’em ; there are the sisters Spicer, who do the ‘ patter 
business’ at the Octagon, and several others whose 
names I forget, but who are equally well known to 
fame. Now you tell me I am added to the long and 
respectable list, and I am flattered.” 

“ He doesn’t really admire any of these women,” I 
said, “ he only pretends to because it’s the fashion in 
his set. Look here, Florence ! Most girls in your 
position would be only too proud if Lord Righton 
looked at them, and wouldn’t sit down and compare 
him with a pompous, hectoring fellow like Lambert, 
just because he’s a bit slangy.” 

I saw I had nettled Florence. 

“ Mr. Lambert is neither pompous nor hectoring,” 
she answered. “ He is the least affected amongst your 
acquaintances. Perhaps that is why you misunder- 
stand him.” 

Then glancing at the magazine in her hand I recog- 
nised the brilliant cover of the “ Sky Rocket.” 

“ I see,” said I, “ he has sent you his article. But I 
shouldn’t advise you to get too thick with Lambert. 


72 


MB. BA ILEY-MAB TIN. 


He hasn’t a penny piece, and has no intention of marry- 
ing unless he can pick up a fortune. I’ve often heard 
him say so. In fact he’s a first-class 4 detrimental.’ 
So look out.” 

“ Thank you, Percival ; I will consider myself 
warned,” she said. “ I shall know how to behave next 
time.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense, Florence,” I said ; “ I know the 
world better than you do. Don’t throw your chances 
away, that’s all. There are a good many in your favour, 
as you know. But it struck me you were not inclined 
to make the best of them.” 

“ You put the subject in your usual lucid and re- 
fined manner, Percival, and with a worldly wisdom 
beyond your years.” 

It was no good ; she was laughing at me. My advice 
was wasted. 

Florence has many gifts ; but common-sense, which 
ought to regulate social life, was not amongst them. 


CHAPTER yin. 


Florence had lost her chance of Lord Righton for 
the present. If she had wished it, I am sure he would 
have always been down at Surbiton; but either 
through indifference or on purpose she let him slip. 

At Surbiton Lord Righton was looked upon as the 
intimate friend of the Bailey-Martins. 

I have laid some stress on this period because it 
shows the first serious efforts on my part for the social 
advancement of my family. 

It was also at this time that my own character was 
destined to be seriously tried. 

Edith Lyall was an almost daily temptation to me, 
and the gossips of course were busy. That summer is 
identified by her presence, and stands out radiant and 
bright above all others. I cannot exactly tell whether 
or not I was in love with Edith. “ To be in love ” is a 
phrase of vague import, ill adapted to define the senti- 
ments of a practical man in his relations with women. 
But it is here my intention to set down the absolute 
truth. I can’t say whether I was in love with Edith 
or not, because if I attach to the words the meaning 
attributed to them by sentimental people, I find I was 
not ready to sacrifice for her sake all those worldly 
aspirations and ambitions that have been the motives 
of my life. 


73 


74 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


I confess that I would have asked Edith to share my 
future if she had been rich. Then there would have 
been no risks ; but having no taste for a narrow life in 
genteel poverty amongst suburban society, I heroically 
refused to give the reins to my affections. 

Looking back I recall, not without regret, that brief 
period of discontented delight that has never been re- 
peated. That I chose the wiser path, I think my readers 
will allow. 

It will be perceived that I take it for granted Edith 
desired to marry me. I do. She had little power of 
concealing her feelings; moreover, she was romantic 
and susceptible. I adapted myself to suit her charac- 
ter and moods with skill, and, I hope, with an unaf- 
fected sympathy, that upon my honour I believe was 
half-unconscious. We entered on that dangerous but 
alluring ground, which one can traverse only when the 
feelings and affections retain their earliest edge, with 
different intentions. Perfectly happy in the enjoyment 
of the present, Edith probably believed I was obeying 
the same impulse, and following it no matter where it 
should lead me. But this was not so. I was determined 
to be carried only so far as it suited my convenience 
and purpose. When people actuated by motives, so 
divergent as ours meet, as we did, misunderstandings 
arise, and much pretty poetry is scattered in the 
prosaic dust of common-sense. Edith was ready to 
give everything ungrudgingly. Unfortunately, I could 
not afford to be so generous. But 1113^ nature was too 
delicate and tender to permit me to indulge my love of 
truth at the expense of her feelings, and, as her society 
afforded me greater pleasure than that of any girl I had 
met, I did not feel called upon to deprive myself of a 
. delight as keen as it was innocent and new. 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


75 


I trust I have made myself clear. I desire to exten- 
uate nothing. 

It was at a Surbiton musical evening that the very 
mild flirtation between us assumed a more serious 
character. The musical taste in most London suburbs 
is widely spread, hut does not go very deep. Mothers 
complain their daughters do not learn more “ taking ” 
music. But the young men lean entirely to the side 
of the popular taste, and sing drawing-room ballads 
with more vigour than art. 

At Surbiton we were original. Ballads do not require 
genius. Perhaps this is why the world is so prolific 
in the production of fifth-rate songsters. Edith sang, 
hut I am thankful she avoided commonplace and fool- 
ish songs. I am no judge of music, hut I can see the 
comic side of it. It may he because I have no taste for 
poetry, that something in most ballads appeals to my 
risible faculties. I can listen to them with funereal 
gravity, but all the while secret caverns of my mind 
are reverberating with silent laughter. This power of 
inner mirth is a compensation for prolonged boredom 
to those who possess it. On the other hand, I am un- 
able to burst into a spontaneous peal of laughter like 
my sister Florence. The sense of humour granted to 
me is not on the surface, but concealed in the recesses 
of my nature, and unsuspected by those who know me 
best. 

But to return to my ballads. I did not discover how 
simple such forms of musical diversion were until ] 
found there was a local production of them. Home- 
made jams and confectionery may be good, but home- 
made poetry and songs are not up to the level of the 
kind produced by people who receive some sort of wages 
for their wares. Still the local producers are not with- 


76 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


out honour in their own neighbourhood, although it 
is impossible, of course, to ascertain how much of this 
sort of adulation is genuine. 

Have you ever noticed the admiration entertained in 
provincial centres, by not a few women, for some local 
preacher of limited eloquence, or for a medical man of 
dubious science? The audience, to whom most un- 
known celebrities of this kind appeal, is generally com- 
posed of women. We all know enthusiasts who deco- 
rate churches, or attend ambulance lectures for some 
other reason than the mere desire of unnecessary em- 
ployment. These sort of people may fall under the 
fascinations of the local ballad-monger as easily as 
under the spell of the local preacher. One of our young 
gentlemen composed a ballad, and it was considered 
a great treat to hear him sing it. Florence and I were 
invited on the evening of its introduction to the world, 
and Edith Lyall accompanied us. The performance 
took place at one of “ the best ” houses, where Mrs. 
Temple, one of our leading ladies dwelt. 

As we drove there, I remember Florence and Edith 
were laughing in anticipation. 

The charm which Edith had for me had grown 
steadily. It was a pleasure to sit by her, a pleasure 
to hear her voice. I fancy at this time my manner 
was gentler than was natural to me. Everyone makes 
his little excursion into Arcadia — that land flowing 
abundantly with all sweet things, but where common- 
sense refuses to flourish. 

It was a beautiful summer night. The long twilight 
was lingering about the west like a luminous shadow. 
Over the tall tree-tops in Bushy Park the stars were 
beginning to glimmer, reflected here and there in the 
placid surface of the river. Some human sentiments 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 77 

are a stimulus to human perceptions. The sombre 
foliage of the trees, the placid river, the serene sky, 
the crepuscular tenderness of a summer night, are 
soothing to everybody. But so are cigarettes. There 
must be a romantic element even in me. It found a 
niche to lodge in that evening. No one in mental 
health is quite blind to what, I believe, people call the 
poetry of things. The sentiment which Edith inspired 
me with, added a new enjoyment to the commonplace 
scenes through which I had hitherto moved, half-un- 
conscious of their existence. I felt a new luxury in 
living, and owed it to Edith Lyall. In such moods 
as these a man scarcely weighs his words or actions. 
Is he entirely responsible for them ? 

When we arrived we found a number of people as- 
sembled in the drawing-room, awaiting the event of 
the evening ; others were wandering through the gar- 
den, where a few Chinese lanterns glimmered amongst 
the branches of the trees. This arrangement sug- 
gested to Florence “ a shilling tea ” at a London ex- 
hibition. 

Mrs. Temple received us warmly. Her cue is to 
admire everybody and everybody's relations. She does 
not do this behind one’s back. Iler admiration is not 
wasted. 

“ How lovely Florence is looking to-night,” she said, 
in a burst of enthusiasm, to me. “ Are you not proud 
of your sister ? And Miss Lyall too, what a beautiful 
pair they make ! ” 

Mr. Temple stood behind his handsome wife without 
echoing her enthusiasm. 

“ How d’yer do ? ” said he. He is one of those gentle- 
men who shine more in business than in society, for 
which his manners and his habits hardly suit him. 


78 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


But his wife has all the social qualities, and her enter- 
tainments are on a magnificent scale. 

“ That was a nice little deal of your father’s in 
nitrates the other day, Martin,” said he. 

“ Capital,” I replied. “ So glad, dear Mrs. Temple, you 
think Florence looking nice. We are all longing to 
hear the new song ; I’m sure it will be lovely.” 

“ First rate,” said Mr. Temple, “ for Briggs is one of 
those chaps who understands his business. My dear,” 
he continued, turning to his wife, “ who is that young 
man over there with the moustache. He hasn’t said 
how do you do to me. Doesn’t he know who I am ? ” 

Glancing in the direction in which he looked I saw 
Lambert. 

“ That is Mr. Lambert,” she said ; “ Captain Melton 
brought him.” 

“I shall go and speak to him,” said Mr. Temple, 
bustling off, “ for he ought to have found out who I 
was.” 

Mr. Temple always insisted on his rights. By this 
time there was an imposing collection of stiff-backed 
and pompous Surbitonians assembled, trying to un- 
stiffen their rigid manners. In this there was some 
difficulty, because Mrs. Temple prided herself on her 
house being the only one where the different cliques 
could meet without danger. In this occasionally she 
was disappointed, for the fire of envy, hatred and mal- 
ice sometimes shot up above the surface. She glided 
round the room paying compliments in set phrases. 
“How charming so and so looks, an ornament to the 
room.” So and so being somebody’s wife, daughter 
or fiancee. This is a simple way of gaining popularity. 

Lambert, who had escaped from his host, was now 
talking to my sister and Edith. I joined the group. 


3/7?. BAILEY-MARTIN. 79 

The tinkling of the piano made us separate in search 
of seats. 

“ Come into the drawing-room. I wouldn’t miss the 
new song for anything,” said Florence. She hurried 
off, followed by Lambert, and I was left with Edith. 
There was a hushed silence. The piano, under the 
touch of Mrs. Briggs, emitted a few hackneyed open 
chords, in which the bass notes concealed the weak 
tinkle of the treble, where glimmered the ghost of more 
airs than one. 

It was coming ! it was coming ! and it came. The 
voice of the singer burst forth in this song never heard 
by audience before. 

I am not a musical critic, so I give the first verse so 
that the reader may appreciate its simple beauty : 

“ Had I met thee in thy beauty, 

When my heart and hand were free, 

When no other claimed the duty 
That my soul would yield to thee. 

Had I wooed thee ! 

Had I won thee ! 

Oh, how glad would be my fate ! 

Oh! ’t were madness to have left tliee, 

To have known thee but too late.” 

I could never understand these words myself, but 
this may not detract from their deep meaning. The 
composer sung them with a voice trembling with emo- 
tion, and the open chords of the accompaniment con- 
veyed, by the sympathy of their prolonged touch, a 
pathetic impression of a soul in lingering pain. 

Friends crowded round the singer and composer to 
congratulate him. 

“ If you really like my little trifle so much, I will 
send you a copy when they are printed,” was his reply. 


80 


MB. BAILE Y-MAB TIN. 


“ The price is half a crown. For private circulation 
only. You will understand. One doesn’t like one’s 
little things to become too common.” 

Soon we were launched on the delights of a musical 
evening. Some of the more daring spirits escaped to 
the billiard-room. On the pretence of taking Edith for 
some refreshments, I led her into the cool garden. 

From the drawing-room came a sound of music and 
the murmur of • conversation on which it seemed to 
float. 

“ How big the stars are,” said Edith, looking through 
the dark boughs. She spoke a little nervously, and 
merely to break the silence. 

“ I don’t think anyone saw us come out here,” said 
I, as we passed under the dark and fragrant shadow 
of a cedar tree. 

The words escaped me unconsciously. I had smug- 
gled Edith out by a well-timed manoeuvre. Mrs. Tem- 
ple I knew would “ congratulate us ” on the slightest 
excuse. 

“ What if they did ? ” asked Edith, in surprise. 

“ O nothing,” I replied ; “ but Mephistopheles says, 

‘ the world is so censorious ! ’ ” 

But how quiet the night was ! A bird, a nightingale 
was singing in the distance. The wind just rustled 
the boughs. There must have been something dan- 
gerous in the air. My senses yielded to the “ intoxica- 
tion of the summer’s night,” as the lady novelists say. 
We had been gliding down hill with heedless reckless- 
ness. 

But I am not a lady novelist and lack skill. I can’t 
remember what I said, nor describe a love scene. 

Besides, would it be fair to Edith to disclose what 
must remain a secret between ourselves? Never did 


MB. BAIL E Y-MA B TIN. 


81 


an innocent woman jump to a false conclusion &o 
wildly. My caresses, my words, my manner and her 
romantic disposition induced her to believe my expres- 
sions of affection equivalent to an offer of marriage. 

“Ah, Percival,” said she with tears in her eyes, 
“ you are very good and kind. I have so little to offer 
you in return.” 

But what had I offered ? Nothing at all. How per- 
verse the girl was ! I had merely assured her of my 
love and my affection. Was it my fault that she came 
to the conclusion that I wanted her to marry me, but 
that for the strongest possible reasons the engagement 
must be hidden from everybody ? Of the sincerity of 
her love there could be no doubt. My natural good 
feeling and dislike to inflict pain prevented me from 
telling her she attached a meaning to my words and 
acts they were not intended to convey. I merely 
meant to indulge in the luxury of a flirtation, but 
apparently from excess of delicacy, did not make my 
meaning clear. 

« But must not I tell Florence ? ” she asked. 

“ Certainly not,” said I, “it would be ruination. My 
dear child, you must be guided by me. Surely I know 
what is best for us both ? ” 

But there are moments which, even in an autobiog- 
raphy, ought to be kept secret. The delicious quarter 
of an hour we spent in the garden is amongst the num- 
ber. We reached the drawing-room undetected. 

“ Be calm, my dear child, be calm ! ” I said. 

I was annoyed to find Florence and Lambert still 
absorbed in their conversation, on the same seat they 
had occupied when the ballad was sung, for I knew 
the insincerity of men in these matters. When Flor- 
ence was called away to play in her turn, I took care 


82 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


Lambert should have no opportunity of talking to her 
alone again, by declaring the carriage was waiting to 
take us home. 

The Temples urged us not to go. 

“ So sorry, dear Mrs. Temple, but I make it a rule 
not to keep the horses waiting. I am very punctilious 
in such things.” 

“Your brother’s discretion is beyond his years!” 
said Lambert to Florence, as he saw us off. 

We put down Edith at her door. 

“ When shall I see you again?” whispered she, as 
we stood on the steps. 

“ I daren’t fix a time yet, darling,” I said. 

I lay awake convinced that night I had made a mis- 
take, but it was one giving me such pleasure I would 
not correct it yet. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A man who has to make his way in the world has 
something else to think about than love-making, al- 
though that need not be neglected. It has often oc- 
curred to me, and probably to a great many others too, 
that a significance is attached to the relations of the 
sexes, entirely out of proportion to its importance. 
Fiction is based on little else in England and France. 
But if one looks to the men who have made history, it 
will be generally found that love, as pourtrayed in 
poetry and three-volume novels, has exercised only 
an inappreciable influence on their career. To my 
mind there is only one excuse for marriage on the part 
of a man. If he can improve his own position by mar- 
riage, socially or materially, let him take a wife by all 
means. But I can see no sentimental excuse for it. 
To fall a victim to the fascination of a pretty penniless 
girl is an exhibition of feebleness that in my opinion 
admits of no palliation. This conviction alone saved 
me from Edith Lyall. But to be adored and only to 
return the feeling in moderation is a luxury I was not 
strong enough to forego. 

Edith was her own mistress. Her mother never in- 
terfered with her movements. There was no obstacle 
to our flirtation but the necessity on my part of escap- 
ing from too close an entanglement. But it is unneces- 
sary as well as unfair to the lady to disclose the love 


84 


3IU. BA ILEY-MAE TIN. 


passages between us. They were of a very tender 
nature. 

To return to my story. 

I was called to the Bar in November, and took cham- 
bers in the Temple, which my father furnished for me 
from the “ Oloptic,” where he obtained the goods at 
something below cost price. If my allowance had been 
larger, I might have now been content to vegetate and 
become an ordinary man about town, a lounger at 
clubs, a dawdler in Pall Mall and Piccadilly. As it 
was, I felt I was meant for something better. 

One day when I was installed in my new chambers, 
soon after I was “ called,” my father visited me. 

I pulled the arm-chair before the lire and sat down 
to listen. A man of business, even when he happens to 
be your father, does not come to see one before lunch- 
time, unless he have something important to say. 

“What do you give for your coals, sir ?” he asked, 
frowning at. the lire. 

“ Twenty-live shillings a ton,” I replied. 

“ The deuce you do. It’s more than they’re worth.” 

“Well, they came from the Oloptic.” 

“ Then your servant’s been changing ’em,” said he, 
crossly. “ But I didn’t come here to talk about coals. 
Look here, Percival, what’s all this nonsense I hear 
about you and Miss Lyall ? ” 

The devil! thought I; those Surbiton people have 
been one too many even for me. 

“Well, sir,” said I, “that depends very much on 
what you have heard about us. As there is nothing 
between us worth talking about, I presume some of our 
dear friends have been telling you lies.” 

“ I was told you were engaged to be married to Edith 
Lyall.” 


ME. BAILE Y-MA E TIN. 85 

I gave a prolonged whistle of affective astonishment. 

“ I hope you denied the report ? ” 

“Denied it,” he retorted, angrily; “I said it must be 
damned nonsense. To marry in your position indeed, 
and without a penny-piece of your own ! Yes, I did 
deny it, but I’ve noticed you’ve been very thick with 
the girl, and how could I tell what mischief you had 
been up to.” 

“ May I ask who told you ? ” 

“ Y oung Brown told me. We came up to W aterloo in 
the. same carriage. ‘ I hear,’ he said, { I am to congrat- 
ulate Percival.’ ‘On what?’ asked I, thinking he was 
referring to you’re being ‘called.’ ‘On his engage- 
ment to Miss Lyall,’ said he. We were stopping at 
Vauxhall at the time and the whole carriage heard 
what he said. ‘ It’s the first I’ve heard of it and it’s 
not true,’ I said, ‘ Percival wouldn’t dare to talk about 
marrying without my consent.’ ‘ I thought you knew 
all about it,’ said he, grinning, ‘ for all Surbiton’s talking 
about it. Birch, of Austin Birch, proposed to her last 
Saturday and she refused him. Report says it was be- 
cause she’s engaged to your son.’ Temple was sitting 
in the other corner. ‘ We all thought it was a case 
between the young people, Martin,’ said he. ‘ But 
after your assurance I s’pose there’s nothing beyond 
the common or garden flirtation, a style of going on 
commoner than when you and I were boys. But I 
must say if Miss Lyall ain’t engaged to Percival he 
has been carrying on pretty well ! ’ That’s what Temple 
said,” continued my father, scowling at me, “ and let 

me tell you, sir, it’s a d d unpleasant thing for a 

father to hear.” 

I perceived that to brazen it out was the best course. 

“I’m sorry you’ve been annoyed with these silly 


86 


MR. BAILEY-MAIi TIN. 


stories about Miss Lyall,” I replied, coolly, “especially 
as it must be unpleasant for the young lady if she ever 
heard of them. There is absolutely no truth in all this 
scandal. Miss Lyall is a pretty and amiable girl, but 
Tve no more intention of asking her to marry me 
than of proposing to my laundress.” 

“ Then what do you mean by carrying on with her ? ” 

I had no idea how much he knew, for my father is 
not a man to show all of his cards at once. 

“ Carrying on,” I replied, with a slight air of indig- 
nation, “ I don’t exactly know to what you refer.” 

“ Well, I will tell you,” retorted he. “ Mrs. Saunders, 
your bed-maker, as you call her, tells me Miss Lyall 
came here with you to tea last Monday, alone, mind 
you, alone.” 

This was unexpected. 

“ It is true she did. I met Miss Lyall by accident in 
Bond Street ; it appears she had come up to do some 
shopping, so of course I gave her some tea. It’s quite 
usual. And as to being alone, why, sir, you are in 
error. I invited Simpson, a relation of the Bishop of 
London ; he’s the man opposite on my landing ; you can 
ask him yourself, sir. Simpson and his sister, who 
happened to be staying with him, a fair girl with dark 
eyebrows. I think you’ve met her, and they came 
round, and ’pon my word I can’t see anything in it.” 

“ Why didn’t you ask the Bishop of London, too, 
while you were about it?” said my father, grimly. 
“Look here, Percival, I don’t believe a word of it. 
You have been making a fool of the girl. She is your 
sister’s friend, and I call it a — a — a — a very dishon- 
ourable action, sir, and it must stop.” 

“ Well,” I exclaimed, in desperation, jumping up and 
standing on the hearth-rug, “ if this young lady is fond 


MU. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


87 


of me I cannot help it. I’ve done nothing to win her 
affections. I am placed, as yon must see, in a position 
which, for a modest man and a gentleman, is exceed- 
ingly difficult ; I throw myself on your mercy.” 

At this a loud knock came at the door. 

“Come in,” I shouted. Lord Righton entered. I 
was saved. Here was the god from a machine ! 

“ Ah, Righton,” I exclaimed, “ I am glad you’ve come. 
You shall arbitrate between us. Here is my father 
highly indignant with me because a certain young lady 
has been to tea in my chambers. The lady, whose 
name I will not mention, is foolish enough to cherish a 
weakness for me, and in consequence of this my father 
is ready to cut me off with a shilling.” 

“ Oh, I say, come, Mr. Martin,” said Righton, “ don’t 
you be hard on Percival just because women jump at 
his head. He’s a doosid fascinating chap, is your son, 
but as honourable as they make ’em. Ask my sister 
Lady Gertrude. ‘ Mr Bailey-Martin,’ she said to me, 
« is the only sensible young man of all your college 
friends.’” 

I had no doubt Lady Gertrude had said this, for I 
had seen a good deal of her of late and made myself 
useful in her numerous and fatiguing fads. 

Righton easily talked my father round. His argu- 
ments were neither original nor convincing, but they 
carried with them all the weight of his station. 

“ It’s very kind of you, my lord,” said he, “ to take 
Percival’s part. You know how far a man can go in 
these matters. As you say, young men will be young 
men ; well we won’t say any more about it.” 

I accompanied my father downstairs, leaving my 
advocate in my rooms with a cigar and the whiskey 
bottle. 


88 


MR. RAILE Y-MAll TIN. 


“ You understand, Percival,” he said, “ that I’ll stand 
no nonsense. Don’t you fancy you can behave like Lord 
Righton. Right’s right, and wrong’s wrong, and his line 
of country isn’t yours. Your mother and myself have 
always been strict people, and we won’t stand anything 
not straight.” 

“ I quite appreciate your moral standard,” said I, 
“ and assure you once more there is nothing between 
Miss Lyall and myself more than a trifling flirtation, 
which shall not be continued. I hope you will say 
nothing about this to my mother or to Florence.” 

“ That’s for me to decide,” said he, as we went into 
the Strand, and having hailed a hansom, drove city- 
wards. 

I was relieved to see the last of him. This visit up- 
set me much. I am of an affectionate nature, and it 
would have given me pain to break with Edith all at 
once. Besides, I was not really tired of her yet ; I felt 
I could come to no decision. It is well to leave these 
things to Providence. I decided hastily to keep away 
from Surbiton for a time and to see what would turn up. 
Meanwhile Edith must take her chance, and if we met 
by accident, why, it wasn’t my fault. 

“ O, you gay dog,” said Righton, when I came back. 
“ I’m ashamed of you. Such a respectable father as 
you’ve got, too. Who is the lady ? ” 

I was too cautious to tell him. 

“ Nobody in particular,” said I, “ only my governor 
has old-fashioned notions about these matters.” 

“ And you’ve new-fashioned ones about ’em, eh, Mar- 
tin. I know you ! You’ve a wheedling way with the 
sex, Master Percival. Well, I suppose you’ve been kiss- 
ing the housemaid, and mamma doesn’t like it.” 

But I would not tell Righton whom I had been kissing, 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 89 

and after undergoing a good deal of clumsy banter, he 
informed me of the reason of his visit. 

Righton was extravagant, and, for a man of his posi- 
tion, his means were small. He had even tried to borrow 
money of me, but I assured him I was in difficulties my- 
self. Lord Righton’ s father was a peppery old peer of 
parsimonious habits, except when his own vices were 
concerned. 

His agents were almost obliged to go down on their 
knees to induce him to sign a cheque. His habit of 
swearing at them was attributed to the influence of the 
Countess’s Calvinism. 

Righton rather dreaded his father. The last time he 
had spoken of his want of money, the latter had con- 
signed his eyes to Hades, and had assured Righton that 
he had other uses for his money than squandering it on 
his successor. The world gave a pretty shrewd guess 
where some of his money went, and it was rumoured 
the Countess was aware of it too, and that she only sub- 
mitted to her wrongs as a matter of expediency. But it 
is not for me do chronicle scandals concerning the great 
families, at whose tables I have broken bread. But all 
who read the society x>apers are aware that the domestic 
life of Lord and Lady Marlington was far from happy. 
Painful scenes often occurred. Lady Gertrude refused 
to live at home, and her mother went for consolation to 
her spiritual adviser, who preached a depressing doc- 
trine in an ugly church at West Brompton, and who 
had received the living from the late Bishop, her father. 

“ Martin,” said Righton, u I want to borrow £1,000.” 

“ I only wish I had it to lend,” said I, “ but why don’t 
you go to your father ? ” 

“ Not again, thank you. I can’t ask my mother, who’s 
sort of excommunicated me. What she has goes to 


90 


MB. BAILEY-MABTIN. 


Timbuctoo with the missionaries. I’m stoney broke, 
and if I can’t get some 4 ouff,’ I shall be in a pretty 
tight fix ! Dammit ! I lost a couple o’ hundred quid at 
Sandowne last meeting, and that’s only an item.” 

Lady Gertrude had a fortune of her own, inherited 
from the Bishop, her grandfather, who had quarrelled 
both with his son-in-law, and with his daughter, and 
tafen the usual post-mortem revenge. She was said 
to be twenty-nine years of age, and lived by herself in 
South Kensington. Her mother and she rarely met 
because of her daughter’s agnostic views; with her 
father she was not on speaking terms. Lady Gertrude 
had taken it on herself to ask him sternly whether 
there was any truth in the reports concerning himself 
and a young lady who stood in the front row of the 
dancers at the Universe, where she marked time with 
some uncertainty, covered with diamonds, which her 
modest salary of £1 a week would hardly have pur- 
chased, if she had studied the strictest economy, which 
she did not. She also owned a smart brougham which 
conveyed her every night to her home in the North- 
Western district of London. But Lady Gertrude’s 
interference only provoked an explosion of wrath. “ It’s 
bad enough to be preached at by my wife,” said the 
peer, “ but I’ll not stand it from my daughter. Why 
don’t you get married? But men don’t marry shrews. 
They are not such fools ! Your mother’s a paragon of 
virtue, and you’re a shrew and frighten all the men 
away.” 

Bighton is my authority for this story. 

“ They went it hammer and tongs,” he said, “ and 
the shindy ended in Gertrude’s leaving Eaton Square 
with her baggage and her maid for a west-end hotel.” 

The Earl never asked her to return, and as the free' 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


91 


dom of action suited her better than the unhappy house- 
hold in Eaton Square, or Righton Hall, she took a house 
for herself, and boldly running up the flag of independ- 
ence, sailed under her own colours. 

“ Ask Lady Gertrude for the money,” said I. 

“ Gertrude’s liberal enough when it suits her book. I 
don’t suit it, yer see, Martin. She’s taken up with a lot of 
Johnnies who preach socialism, or some such rot, at the 
east-end. But let’s go over and see her. You’ve been 
writing some of your humbug to her and mashing her ; 
I believe you’re a convert. Suppose you come, too, and 
back me up.” 

This was a chance not to be neglected. I felt I was 
cut out for a diplomatist, and left my chambers with 
Righton with so soothing a feeling of complacency that 
my interview with my father was almost forgotten. 


CHAPTER X. 


Lady Gertrude took considerable interest in me be- 
cause she thought she had converted me to her own 
peculiar form of agnosticism. I cannot remember how 
it differed from other systems of belief, but when she 
first explained them, — differentiated them, was her 
phrase, — I think I appreciated the niceties. Some time 
before, seeing an article in “ The Trumpet ” bearing 
her name, I took the liberty of writing to her to tell her 
how much I had been impressed by it, and requested 
her to explain certain points in her argument of an 
abstruse nature. 

“You must not imagine,” I wrote in conclusion, 
“ that I am entirely given over to frivolous pursuits. 
It is not so. I have been brought up unfortunately in 
a circle which despises philosophy and culture, and 
even when I was at college I fell into a set that placed 
no value on intellectual progress, and whose ideas were 
entirely narrow and conventional. My creed no longer 
satisfies me. I have become like a ship without a 
rudder, and ignorance is seated at the helm.” 

My letter was a dignified request to Lady Gertrude 
to put her cultured hand on the tiller of my intellectual 
Three Decker and steer it straight. On the look out 
for disciples she readily accepted me, and I became a 
convert to her theological and social views, and was a 
most constant and earnest attendant of her “ Thurs- 


ME. BAILEY-MA R TIN. 


93 


days.” On these solemn days a number of us used to 
assemble in her drawing-room for the purpose of hold- 
ing elevated converse on all manner of important sub- 
jects, and for the exchange of ideas. 

To look at, we were, in the words of Righton, 44 a 
scratch lot,” but from top to toe we were determined 
to be original. The object of our cult was the non- 
existent. In poetry we looked to it and awaited the 
bard of the future. All existing methods of painting 
displeased us, from Mr. Frith to Mr. Whistler, although 
we preferred the latter. We knew all contemporary 
art was wrong and desired something different. We 
had one artist amongst us who was simply waiting for 
inspiration to show us what form it must take. But 
how hopeful we were ! “ How noble a thing it is,” 

said Lady Gertrude to me, 44 4 to look into the seeds of 
time ’ in anticipation of the potentialities, beautiful and 
grand, they hide in their cells.” 44 It is,” I said, 44 the 
one thought that renders the vulgar present endurable.” 

This side of my character has not been revealed to 
you yet. My last remark to Lady Gertrude will make 
it clear. This 44 high-souled ” sort of existence was of 
course, eminently fatiguing, but I was patient enough 
to live it once a week. My patience, my intelligence, 
my respectful attention, together with my youth and 
good looks, had made me one of the leading spirits 
among the little throng of 44 hangers-on ” who hoped 
it would pay to worship the non-existent with Lady 
Gertrude as High Priestess. This is why Righton had 
sought me as an ally. 

44 I’ve an idea you can get round my sister,” said he, 
as we got out of the hansom before her door. “You 
can sit like a Sphinx at her awful ‘Thursdays,’ 
amongst her long hair and crack-brained crew.” 


94 


MB. BAILEY-MABTIN. 


“ My dear Righton,” I exclaimed, “ you ought to be 
proud of your sister ; she is the most cultured and 
delightful woman I have ever met.” 

“ Git along,” said he, grinning, “ or I split about your 
little tea parties at the Temple. 

We were shown into the drawing-room, hung with 
dark tapestry, and ornamented with Japanese hanging 
pictures. On an easel was an ill-drawn pastel portrait 
of Lady Gertrude, her wistful ansemic face gazing be- 
tween two wings of flame. Beneath was written “We 
are hut symbols.” It was the work of the artist I 
have referred to. We all admired it for its mystery. 
Righton was examining it when Lady Gertrude entered. 

“ My aunt, Gertie ! ” he exclaimed. “ What a rummy 
portrait ! What’s your head burning for ? ” 

“ My dear Righton ! ” I interposed. “ The painting 
is by a young and eminent artist, and is allegorical. 
The wings of fire represent the flight of ideas through 
the universe. I consider it the most original portrait 
I have ever seen. If you want a vulgar likeness you 
must go to photography. A great painter reflects the 
soul that burns within.” 

Righton always put his foot in it. When one lias 
come to ask a favour such an indiscretion is unpardon- 
able. 

“ I dessay it’s all right when you get more used to 
it,” he said, with an evident desire to mollify his sister. 

“ It is a work,” said she, coldly, “ one would hardly 
expect you to admire.” 

We sat down and looked at each other in silence. 
Lady Gertrude is one of those ladies who make it a 
point never to speak for speaking’ sake. Theoretically 
her plan is excellent, but practically it does not en- 
courage conversation. It depressed Righton, who 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


95 


fidgeted on his seat, under her pale, icy bine eye. 
When he could hear it no longer, he said : 

“ I say, Martin, tell my sister what we have come 
about.” 

The Lady Gertrude’s eyes turned to me, and I think 
there was the shadow of a warmer glimmer beneath 
the chill blue of her glance. 

My task was not an easy one, for both had to be pro- 
pitiated. I was embarrassed, hut less than I appeared. 
Under some circumstances an exhibition of not un- 
graceful embarrassment is becoming. 

“ I think,” I said, after a moment’s pause, turning to 
Righton, 44 that I could speak with greater freedom if 
I were alone with Lady Gertrude.” 

44 To he sure you could,” exclaimed Righton. 44 If 
you don’t mind, Gertie, I’ll cut into the dining-room 
whilst you talk me over. I’m afraid you’ll find me 
an awful bore.” 

Then I commenced to explain my commission. 44 1 
have promised your brother to speak to you on a mat- 
ter of business, Lady Gertrude. We were friends at 
school, friends at college, and have been intimate ever 
since. Like yourself, I deplore the kind of society that 
Lord Righton appears to find congenial. But under 
such influence as yours he might readily become fitted 
for the high duties expected from a man of his station. 
Y ou have an opportunity of helping him. Lord Righton 
is in need of £1,000. He has lost money at races 
and I am afraid at cards. Naturally he turned to his 
father for necessary aid. The Earl refused point- 
blank. Now he has requested me to ascertain whether 
you could lend him the money. 

44 IIe would never pay me,” said Lady Gertrude. 

44 That contingency has occurred to me. He must 


96 


MB. BA IL E Y-MABTIN. 


give you a mortgage of some kind and pay you a fair 
interest.” 

“If I could be assured of repayment at six months’ 
notice I should have no objection to lend him £1,000.” 

“ What interest would you expect ? ” 

“ Ten per cent.” 

“ If you would let me act for you in this matter, 
Lady Gertrude, I think I could be of some use, both to 
you and your brother, and prevent him going to the 
Jews. He would have found it almost as cheap.” 

“ I could be spared all risks of loss by the necessary 
legal instruments, I suppose, Mr. Bailey-Martin ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Ten per cent, isn’t much to ask.” 

What an eye for a bargain the lady had ! 

This side of her character was new to me and in- 
creased my respect. 

“ Under the circumstances, I do not think, Lady 
Gertrude, you could ask more.” 

“ Perhaps not. Although I believe on such occasions 
some people do. But I will trust implicitly to you in 
this case, Mr. Bailey-Martin. You shall act forme and 
see the necessary documents are prepared. When 
they are ready for Lord Righ ton’s signature, I shall 
have pleasure in handing him a cheque for the 
amount.” 

“ I understand your motive, Lady Gertrude,” I said, 
“and it is worthy of you. You wish to spare your 
brother’s feelings by robbing this act of generosity of 
all appearance of favour. I will acquaint Lord Righton 
of your intention.” 

“ But please make him understand that I decline to 
discuss the arrangement with him. It would be un- 
becoming.” 


Mil. BAILEY-MARTIN. 97 

“ Of course, of course, Lady Gertrude ; I appreciate 
the delicacy of your feelings.” 

I went to the dining-room, where Righton was seated 
on the table, swinging his short legs. 

“Well?” said he. 

“It’s all right; Lady Gertrude will lend you the 
money.” 

“ The devil she will ! ” he said in surprise. “ But on 
what terms.” 

“ At ten per cent, and a mortgage on your estate.” 

“ That’s more like her,” he replied, grinning. “ She’s 
nearly as had as the Jews. But it will keep the 
money in the family at all events. I wonder where she 
learnt the tricks of the trade. Upon my word, Martin, 
I believe you’ve been coaching her.” 

“On the contrary, I simply suggested she should 
make the advance you required. Lady Gertrude was 
responsible for the details. They do credit to her 
business capacity, I think.” 

“Yes, that’s a sort of thing you would admire, 
Martin,” said he. “ Well, I’ll accept her sisterly ac- 
commodation, and blow the expense ! ” 

“ Then I will tell her so. From motives of delicacy 
she does not wish to speak to you of this matter.” 

“ Very genteel of her to be sure. But right you are, 
Martin, only get me the ‘ ouff ’ as soon as possible.” 

Then we went to the drawing-room, where Lady 
Gertrude gave us tea, and afterwards departed to the 
Celibate Club, where I dined sumptuously with Righton. 

When I went back late that night to the Temple, I 
felt satisfied with my day’s work. 

7 


CHAPTER XI. 


The little stroke of business in which, it will he seen, 
I was of some service to Lady Gertrude, helped me 
still more to win her confidence, and I was frequently 
at her house. T perfectly understood her character. 
A singular mixture of shrewdness and eccentricity. 
The enthusiasm she devoted to her fads was not in 
harmony with her financial common-sense. The people 
who crowded about her so eagerly on her “ Thursdays,” 
wending their way to those serious gatherings in all 
weathers from remote corners of the metropolis, in 
belated ’buses, from Brixton, from Hampstead, and 
from obscure regions beyond the radius, touched, her 
only at one point of sympathy. In her worship of the 
non-existent, she and they were of one accord. But I 
alone of all her personal friends understood her practical 
side that prevented her riding her hobbies to death. 
However great Lady Gertrude’s zeal might he, it was 
rarely so excessive as to induce her to waste her money. 
Soon I grew the favourite at her court, and the other 
frequenters of her drawing-room were jealous. An 
earnest student of human nature, this exhibition 
amused me, and perhaps flattered me a little. 

For several weeks I kept away from Surbiton on the 
plea that work detained me in London. I had told my 
mother of course how I had become Lady Gertrude’s 
confidential adviser, and she fully appreciated the 
98 


ME. BA ILEY-MAETIX. 


99 


importance of that office, and let our friends into the 
secret. “ What a fine thing it would be,” she said to 
me in one of her letters, “ if you could only heal the 
breach in this unhappy, but noble family. It is your 
duty as a Christian, and would certainly be to your 
credit as a lawyer.” My mother’s notions of a barris- 
ter’s duties, you see, were vague. Her letters, however, 
showed me she had not heard anything about Edith 
Lyall. My father had held his tongue to her at all 
events on this subject. He disliked a fuss, for when 
my mother was “upset ” by any intelligence she chose 
to consider disagreeable, the whole house always felt 
the shock. 

I had not seen Edith since the unfortunate day re- 
ferred to by my father. She had written to me twice, in 
the terms a young lady employs to the man she expects 
to marry, and her letters made me uneasy. Had I 
gone too far, dangerously far, I mean ? I was convinced 
she had not any evidence on which to establish a breach 
of promise of marriage. Besides, even if I had been 
fool enough to make a definite proposal in writing, I 
knew she would not have used it. “ Why don’t you 
write to me?” she asked in her letter. “Rather, why 
don’t you come and see me. The secrecy in which you 
wish our engagement kept often places me in a diffi- 
cult position.” This point-blank announcement of the 
exaggerated view she held of the indefinite, though 
amatory, relations between us made me anxious. W eak 
men fall into a trap like this. I recalled the case of an 
old friend of mine who was lugged into a marriage by 
the brisk generalship of the young lady he was court- 
ing for the fun of the thing. It was at a dance at her 
father’s house, and my friend had taken the girl on to 
the balcony to gaze on the moon. I do not know what 


100 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


transpired, but to his intense surprise his companion 
ran into the drawing-room with tears, — tears of joy, I 
suppose — in her eyes and announced to her father, her 
mother, and her brothers, that my poor friend, who is 
wealthy, had proposed to her and that she had accepted 
him. 

“ Before you could say Jack Robinson,” said he, sadly, 
“ the whole family followed by their friends came on to 
the balcony to wish me joy.” 

Poor fellow ! he could offer no resistance and married 
the lady. 

Recalling this unfortunate case, it occurred to me that 
if Edith Lyall were to tell all her friends she were en- 
gaged to me, my position would be very awkward. It 
was time to come to an understanding. I was a little 
frightened of meeting Florence. You can never trust 
a woman to hold her tongue, and how could I not be 
sure Edith had not confided in her ? If I could only 
arrange to divert the family attention from my affairs, 
I thought I might make the best possible bargain with 
Edith and start afresh. Then it occurred to me if 
Righton would visit us, my own little plans might be 
hidden beneath the smoke and confusion of the hour. 
Besides this, he admired Florence. lie had met her 
with my mother once or twice in town, and had insisted 
on accompanying them to the dressmaker’s. I had 
taken care to inform him that my father intended to 
give her £80,000 as a marriage portion. “ Thirty thou- 
sand pounds,” said Righton, “ is not to be sneezed at.” 
As a matter of fact I had never heard my father refer to 
his intentions on this matter at all, but I would ask 
you, is a girl worse off because she has the reputation 
of a handsome dowry ? Reflect for a moment. Sup- 
pose Edith possessed even such moderate pretensions 


MB . BA ILE Y-MA B TIN . 


101 


to wealth, let us say, as £1200 a year, the efforts I was 
about to make to escape from an engagement would 
have had a perfectly opposite direction, and I should 
not have been compelled to smother my affections 
beneath the weight of duty. But he who takes passion 
for his guide follows a mad leader. A cold feeling crept 
into my heart when my resolution was formed. Reason 
said, “ Percival ! you must break with Edith,” and 
however painful and heart-rending the rupture, I knew 
the voice must he obeyed. 

Righton had put me up for the Celibate Club, and 
we generally met there. You can always recognize 
this aristocratic establishment by the rows of smooth- 
faced boys at the windows. Members of less renowned 
institutions declare there is a nursery upstairs for the 
younger members to play. They all seemed terribly 
young compared to me, although not a few of them 
were my seniors. Perhaps it was because I never 
acted without an object, and they never acted with 
one, that this singular distinction between the other 
“ Celibates ” and myself made itself felt. 

Since the loan from his sister Righton had become a 
little more thoughtful. “ There’s nothing like looking 
to the main chance ” was a phrase then frequently in 
his mouth. He accepted my invitation without reluc- 
tance. I wrote home immediately to my father. The 
tone of his letter showed I was forgiven. Righton’s 
visit w T as accepted as a peace offering ; I had done some- 
thing to raise the family prestige. This compensated 
for the scandal my flirtation with Edith Lyall had ex- 
cited. 

I went down to Surbiton on the day before Lord 
Righton’s visit, my father having proposed I should 
drive our guest down from London. He had a some- 


102 


MU. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


what exaggerated idea of the honour sitting behind his 
horses gave. 

I went down before lunch. My mother, I remem- 
ber, expressed some disapproval at my appearance, and 
hoped I had not been studying too much. I said the 
atmosphere of the Law Courts was trying, and asked 
where Florence was. 

“ I believe she has gone to see Edith Lyall,” she said. 
“ That girl never comes here now. I really believe 
your father must have said something to offend her. 
She is very touchy. Do you know, Percival, I once 
thought she had a penchant for you.” 

“ How absurd ! But how is Florence ? ” 

“ Well, Percival, do you know I am not quite satis- 
fied about her. I think there is something on her 
mind. I think it’s that Mr. Lambert you brought here. 
He has called frequently and she has often met him. 
In fact people have been talking about them.” 

This was very had news. Florence had always 
turned up her nose at the local youths with their strong 
City flavour. 

I had never contemplated an entanglement of this 
kind. 

“ What have they been saying ? ” I inquired. 

“ She was indiscreet enough at the last subscription 
dance to give Mr. Lambert eight dances. It was so 
conspicuous that it was naturally remarked. You 
know what a place this is for scandal ! ” 

“ Lambert hasn’t a penny,” said I. 

“ Florence is a very peculiar girl,” replied my mother. 
“ Let us hope there is nothing in it.” 

“ Has my father heard anything of this ? ” 

“No, and I have said nothing about it. It would 
make him so angry.” 


3IR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 103 

“Well,” said I, “it must be put a stop to; Lambert 
is probably only flirting with her.” 

But my mother would not allow this. She con- 
sidered it the most natural thing in the world that all 
the young men should be in love with her daughter, 
although she did not exactly say so. 

“ Florence,” she said, “is much what I was at her 
age, only a little lighter and more frivolous.” But she 
agreed with me that the matter had better go no far- 
ther. 

“ If I talk about it to her,” she said, “ she will be in- 
clined to exaggerate the importance of it. I think, 
Percival, you might sound her. Be half in fun, you 
know. Don’t treat the matter seriously.” 

Soon my sister came in. She looked prettier than 
ever, but perhaps a little graver. She had not been 
ten minutes in the room before her manner showed 
me either that Edith had taken her into her confidence 
or that she had found me out through her own shrewd- 
ness. This made me uncomfortable, but I determined 
to ignore it. It is strange how popular this ostricli- 
like policy is even with the cleverest of us. 

I commenced to talk about trifles but she answered 
in monosyllables. Women have this way of showing 
man he is in disgrace, and I always find it peculiarly 
irritating. It put my back up and gave me courage to 
carry the warfare into her own camp. 

“ I hear you and Bob had been to these subscription 
dances,” said I. “ How have they gone off ? ” 

“ Very well,” said she. 

“ Any of the usual quarrelling about admission? ” 

“ Not this time. The Committee decided to 4 behave 
with perfect good-breeding ’ and to admit everyone who 
applied for a ticket.” 


104 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


“ Lambert was there, I hear,” I said. 

“Yes” 

“You danced with him eight times.” 

“ Yes, or nine.” 

“ That was very foolish of you. Of course you made 
the people talk.” 

“ I daresay.” 

“ Lambert hasn’t a penny. It won’t do, Florence.” 

“ May I ask on what terms you are with my friend, 
Edith Lyall,” she retorted, fixing her eyes on me. 

I had expected something of this sort, but was not 
prepared with an answer. 

“ There is nothing to tell you ; my father asked me 
the same question. I told him, as I tell you, there is 
nothing between us beyond a trifling flirtation that 
signifies nothing.” 

“Nothing to you, perhaps, but everything to her.” 

“ What has Miss Lyall said ? ” 

“ She has not mentioned your name to me.” 

“ Then how did you hear of this ? ” 

“ Through papa. He said I was not to encourage 
Edith to come here because of you ” 

“ Neither he nor you need be under any anxiety on 
my account. I have no intention of asking Miss Lyall 
to marry me.” 

“ Rumour says you have done that already.” 

“ Then rumour lies, as it generally does.” 

“One thing is clear to me, Percival. You have de- 
ceived Edith and made her care for you. I know her, 
and I know you. I am ashamed of my brother.” 

Tears of anger were gathering in her eyes as she 
hastily left the room. This little family jar pained 
me greatly. Florence was terribly in earnest. This 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 105 

matter, I felt, must be left no longer in suspense. 1 
decided to see Edith directly after lunch. 

Lunch when it came was a silent meal. 

Florence scarcely opened her mouth. She is one of 
those people whose mental equilibrium is upset by a 
quarrel. She had convinced herself I had behaved 
abominably. My mother probably believed her man- 
ner was due to what I had said about Lambert, and 
refrained from remarking the barrier that my sister 
insisted in erecting between us. 

Florence went to her room when lunch was over, and 
my mother at once asked me what had occurred. 

“ I can see,” she said, “ you have offended her.” 

“ I merely gave her a hint not to make herself too 
conspicuous with Lambert. It made her angry, but 
I’m sure she’ll take it. After all, Florence is not the 
sort of girl to throw herself away.” 

“ I should think not indeed ! ” replied my mother. 
“ No, Percival. There is no foolish sentiment on either 
side in our family. No one dislikes worldliness more 
than myself, but it is quite right that people should 
know their value and 4 those who marry in haste repent 
at leisure.’ That is what I say.” 

A good many other people had said the same thing 
before, but my mother evidently considered she had a 
proprietary right to the phrase. 


CHAPTER XII. 


The deuce was in it. How was I to tell this girl she 
had made a mistake. Those who have read these pages 
are aware that no really serious love-making, so far 
as I am concerned, had taken place between us. But 
it is hard to tell an affectionate and amiable girl, espe- 
cially when she is pretty — that she has misconstrued 
the nature of your — what shall I say — admiration ? Of 
this peculiar delicacy, this unaffected sympathy for the 
feelings of others, I have, as you must have seen, more 
than my share. But, alas ! there are some men who 
are precluded from marrying dowerless daughters by 
the stern exigencies of nineteenth-century civilization. 
Would it not have been cruel for a young man of my 
uncertain prospects to have married Edith? What 
had I to offer her ? Such a marriage would have es- 
tranged my father from me, and probably driven him 
to cut off my allowance. To give the reins to one’s 
affections is sometimes to be guilty of selfishness, and 
selfishness is a fault which to my mind admits of no 
palliation. Self-denial is a great quality. Men, whose 
actions are guided by a due sense of honour and good 
sense, have often to exercise it. Now the time had come 
for me to do not what was pleasant but what was right. 

106 


3/7?. BA IL EY-MARTIX. 


107 


Debating thus, I had walked — by the longest way 
- — to Box Tree Road. 

It was early in December. The fog had frozen to 
the boughs of the trees, and the branches, that stood 
out against the opaque atmosphere of the waning 
wintry day, appeared to have covered themselves with 
some strange arctic foliage. The hungry birds flutter- 
ing through the frozen boughs shook down tiny showers 
of frosty rime. All things were muffled by the mist 
that rose from the river, and deadened the reports of 
the frequent fog-signals that heralded the approach of 
the down trains. For a moment I stood on the steps, 
bracing up my nerves for the interview. The flickering 
light of a dancing fire lit up the window in pleasing 
contrast to the gloom of the dreary day without. I 
cannot tell how it is with other men, but with me 
anxiety acts as a peculiar mental stimulus, increasing 
this clearness of vision, and giving a strange earnest- 
ness and intensity to all the ordinary phenomena of 
prosaic life, converting its prose into poetry. How 
well I can remember those terrible bi-annual visits to 
the dentist with my mother ! How cheerful and happy 
all the world, outside my frightened self, appeared as 
we drove thither, so much too fast ! with nothing to 
buoy me up save the promised ten shillings from papa 
if I abandoned myself obediently to the horrible chair ! 
I must now submit to a worse operation than ever as a 
lad I endured at the stern hands of the inexorable 
tooth-drawer, and, besides bearing my own share of 
pain, must inflict suffering on a gentle and confiding 
girl. It is, I say, no wonder I hesitated on the thresh- 
old and I am not ashamed of my weakness. But I 
rang the bell at last and asked to see Miss Lyall. The 
servant smiled, I thought, and in her smile conveyed a 


108 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


meaning, as the smile of common people sometimes 
will. It seemed to say, “ he has come at last to propose 
to Miss Edith.” 

Now I was in the room with the dancing fire. The 
maid lit the gas and departed. Edith was upstairs 
with her mother. Then I heard her footstep descend- 
ing the stair. She entered, happy and radiant, and 
hurried across the room as I stood on the hearthrug. 
The expression on my face, I suppose, told her my visit 
had a painful object, for the look of expectancy in her 
eyes died away. I kissed her cheek for the last time. 

“ Why ! what bad news have you brought ? ” she 
asked. 

Words are capricious servants, often deserting us 
when we are in sore need of their best services. 

“ I have something hard to say,” I began, “ and only 
my strong sense of what is fair to you to give me 
courage to say it.” 

‘ My own words were now beginning to help me on. 

“ Edith,” I went on after a pause, “ we have been 
living in a fool’s paradise. I have been very happy 
there, but like Adam and Eve, we have been driven out 
by an angel, or rather a demon — necessity — I mean.” 

I paused to observe the effect ; a little undercurrent 
of complacency at the neatness of parallel was dimly 
discernible to my mind. 

“ I can’t understand you,” she said. 

This I felt was hard, after I had put the matter so 
delicately. 

“I am acting for your good, Edith; the time has 
come when, when ” 

“Do you mean when our engagement must be 
broken off?” 

“My dear child,” I said, perceiving the necessity of 


MR. BA ILEY-MA R TIM. 


109 


plain speaking, “the relations between us were never 
quite on that solemn footing. We were never engaged. 
We have been great friends, and believe me, I still en- 
tertain the warmest affection for you, but it is not fair 
to you. You must marry a rich man, — although when 
I look at you, upon my word, I don’t know one good 
enough for you, — and I must marry a woman of posi- 
tion.” 

But she remained silent, still. 

“ But don’t fret, my dear child. Pretty little stories 
like yours and mine frequently end this way. Come, 
let us part friends and remain only friends.” 

I thought I knew Edith Lyall, but was mistaken. 

Her face was white and her lips close set, when at 
last with an effort she answered me. 

“ Mr. Bailey-Martin,” she said, in a hard voice, “ you 
are mean, false, and deceitful. You have lied to me 
every moment I have passed in your company, and I 
shall never be able to forgive myself for what has. 
passed between us. May I never see you again is my 
last request.” 

She rang the bell loudly. I heard the servant ap- 
proaching to let me out. What use to stay? Later on, 
no doubt, she would recognise the injustice of her 
words. After all, her disappointment was natural. I 
left the room without another look at her passionate 
face, and in a moment more was out in the foggy air 
with a pang of regret in my heart, but the conscious- 
ness of having done what was right as a compensation. 

Ah ! but my flirtation was very pleasant while it 
lasted. Here the idyllic chapter of my life ends. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


This little business with Edith being over, I felt I 
could once more face my father and Florence without 
the faintest feeling of trepidation. If I were asked to 
advise a young man just entering on the threshold of 
life, I would tell him that if he could not entirely avoid 
compromising relations with all handsome and penni- 
less girls, always to leave behind him an honourable 
door of escaping from the obligations that women are 
so ready to imagine as existing. Suppose, for instance, 
I had written to Edith a letter that could have been 
construed into a promise of marriage, I should not 
have been able to break with her nearly so easily. 
Even when a woman does not put these mischievous 
testimonies of youthful rashness into “ the hands of ” 
her solicitor, she can show them, and very often does 
show them, to her friends, and our credulous youth is 
compelled to pay costs before the court of local opinion 
in the form of a damaged reputation. In these ques- 
tions of social ethics men have one code, women 
another, and if the conduct of the former were inves- 
tigated by the standard of the latter, even Sir Galahad 
would scarcely pass muster, if they knew quite all 
about him, whilst Sir Lancelot’s deficiencies would pre- 
vent the middle-classes from giving him their votes 
for a seat on the London School Board. Fortunatelv 

no 


MR. li AIL E Y-MAll TIN. 


Ill 


women never do know all about us, nor is it intended 
that they should. I am speaking, of course, of “good 
women” who believe in an enduring affection as the 
solace of a life-time, who love sentiment and consider 
all marriages based on other grounds than those of 
personal attachment offences against their own im- 
peccable code of impracticable morality. Take my sis- 
ter Florence, for instance, as an example. With all her 
wit and intelligence she held these irrational notions 
on the relation of the sexes, and I confess I felt more 
pained than surprised at her un sisterly conduct to- 
wards a brother who had always looked to her making 
a brilliant match for her own advantage and the family 
honour. She refused to come into the billiard-room 
after dinner at my request, and carefully avoided ad- 
dressing her conversation to me at dinner. 

“ I see you’ve said something to put Florence’s back 
up,” said Bob, when w T e were smoking over the billiard- 
room fire, “ what is it ? ” 

“ I merely objected to her c carrying on ’ so foolishly 
with that fellow Lambert, and I must say, Bob, you 
ought not to have let them get so thick at those con- 
founded dances where they’ve been meeting.” 

“ I did try, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Told me 
to mind my own business. You know what a devil of 
a spirit she’s got! She’s awfully gone on Lambert, and 
so is he on her. I’m afraid it’s a case.” 

This was a pleasant piece of news. 

« How phlegmatic you are,” I exclaimed, indignantly. 
“You should have put a ‘stopper’ on it at once.” 

Now Bob prides himself on his man-of-tlie- worldly 
knowledge. 

“ Put ‘ a stopper ’ on it, indeed ! I’ll leave that to you. 
I tried my best, and, short of telling the gov’nor, there 


112 


ME. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


was no course to take. She snubbed me as, you bet 
your boots, she’ll snub you again, if you try it on. 
She knows very well lie’s in earnest, and as to his not 
having the ‘chips’ she’s not one of the sort to be a 
stickler for them. No, ‘Pur,’ I know Florence, and 
she’s best let alone.” 

“Let alone indeed! You’re talking nonsense, and 
look here, I should be obliged if you would address me 
by my full name, instead of treating me only to a frag- 
ment of it. Percival’s my name.” 

My brother’s stolid indifference over a matter of such 
importance to the family was very galling, or I should 
not perhaps have taken offence at his habit of curtail- 
ing my name of its two syllables, although his continu- 
ance in it, in spite of several strong hints, had for long 
annoyed me. 

“ All right,” he said, crossly, “ but if I call you Per- 
cival, I shall expect you to call me Robert. But I see 
what it is, you’re in a bate because you think your 
swell pal, Righton, may propose to Florence. I know 
he’s ‘mashed’ on her. But don’t you fancy she’ll 
accept him. Florence ain’t like you, nor yet like the 
guv’nor an’ me. It doesn’t follow she wants Righton 
for a husband, just because we fancy him as a brother- 
in-law. I spoke to her about it, and she roared at the 
idea.” 

“ Only after she met Lambert.” 

“Yes. But even if she had never met him, I don’t 
believe she would have married Righton. He ain’t a 
bad little chap, but he’s not much to look at, and hasn’t 
the brains of a snipe. Lucky for him lie’s a lord. I 
only wish it could be brought about, but it’s too late 
now.” 

This conversation still more increased my uneasiness 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


113 


about Florence, and I would have expostulated with 
her once more that evening had I not felt the occasion 
to be unpropitious. Yet, if Righton could be induced 
to propose, the matter might be settled comfortably. 
I knew he admired her more than any girl of his 
acquaintance, but he was now a little frightened of 
her. In his way he respected her. Moreover, the 
£30,000 which I had taken it on myself to give her 
as a marriage portion was better than no dowry at 
all. 

I drove up to London on the next day, and found 
Righton in low spirits from late hours and dissipation. 
Since my acquaintance with Lady Gertrude had grown 
into friendship, I had assumed a more serious air 
towards him. The attitude I adopted was not, I flatter 
myself, unbecoming. It was that of a man who has 
sown his wild oats and is looking on life as a serious 
thing, in which for success and happiness something 
else than flippancy and the slang tone of the pink 
sporting papers is needful. 

I found Righton at his chambers in Piccadilly, half- 
dressed. 

The day was cold and slightly foggy, and Righton’s 
eyelids were red and heavy, and his face yellower than 
usual from a disordered digestion. I expostulated 
with him, pointing out how he was spoiling his health 
and squandering the chances birth and talents gave 
him by the life he was leading. 

“You are intended for better things,” I said, con- 
vinced he would believe me. “Besides, these cheap 
excitements in the society of ballet-dancers and gam- 
blers are unworthy of you.” 

“ They are,” he replied, dismally, “ and upset me 
awf’ ly. I find I can’t drink champagne and eat pdte 

8 


114 


ME. BAILE Y-MAJR TIN. 


de foie gras and lobster mayonnaise at four o’clock in 
the morning without looking, and wliat’s worse, feel- 
ing as chippy as a boiled owl. Just look at my 
tongue.” 

I did. It was like a piece of flannel with a layer of 
soap on it. I sympathised with him on its posses- 
sion. 

“No man can stand this forever,” he said, tying his 
necktie with feeble fingers. “ On my mother’s side we 
ain’t long-lived. I believe my heart’s weak. I feel I 
should like to go to bed for a year and live on brandy 
and soda and clear soup.” 

“There is only one thing for you to do,” said I, im- 
pressively. 

“ What’s that?” 

“ Marry. You have had a fling long enough for any 
reasonable man. You know your present life has 
become irksome to you. You have quarrelled with 
your father, can’t get on with your mother, and 
don’t understand Lady Gertrude. Marriage, my dear 
Righton, would be your salvation.” 

“I believe you’re right, Martin. It’s hard to say so 
after a short innings like mine, but this sort of life will 
end in snuffing me out.” 

“ You ought to marry some one brilliant, beautiful 
and clever, able to hold her own in any society, and be 
a credit to the title you must soon succeed to.” 

I wonder if he suspected the girl I had in my mind. 

“The idea of my marrying isn’t a new one, though,” 
he said, thoughtfully. “ Of course, women rather jump 
at me, peers’ sons not being so plentiful as blackberries. 
I don’t mind telling you, Martin, that I do know one 
girl, a clipper too, who, who, — ah, well, who’s enough to 
make a fellow think seriously about the business.” 


ME. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


115 


My heart leapt, for whom could he mean ? 

“ I am glad,” I said, “ to hear you say that, Righton, 
and I can only hope the lady is all you imagine her to 
be. With your knowledge of the world you are not 
likely to be taken in.” 

Delicacy prevented me from saying more. There 
are, in the lives of all of us, moments of triumph, not, it 
is true, destined always in the sequence to be realised. 
One was in store for me. Suddenly Righton turned 
away from the looking-glass at which he had not too 
neatly arranged his scarf and said with some embar- 
rassment, 

“ Martin, we’ve been friends off and on ever since we 
were at old Bland’s together.” 

“ There is no one living,” I interposed with feeling, 
“ whom I regard so warmly as yourself.” 

“ I’d best be open with you,” he went on, “ it’s fair- 
est.” 

“ My dear Righton,” I said, “ you are always the 
soul of candour.” 

“ W ell, Martin, to make a long story short I’m ‘ nutts ’ 
on your sister. I’m devilish fond of her. She’s such 
4 snap,’ and as pretty as they make ’em.” 

He looked at me evidently expecting me to say some- 
thing, but my delight was like Pan’s pipe, “ blinding 
sweet,” and for a moment closed my lips. 

“My dear Righton,” 1 exclaimed at last y “you 
delight me beyond words. But what can I say ? ” 

“ Say ! why, tell me if you think she’ll have me. 
Generally I should have no doubt, but your sister’s 
diif’rent to the rest of them and never takes a chap 
seriously.” 

The question was a difficult one to answer. If I told 
Righton she was sure to accept him I was making 


116 


MB. BAILEY-MAB TIN. 


Florence needlessly cheap ! If I said there were risks of 
his offer being rejected, I might frighten him out of mak- 
ing it. To stand on the family dignity was the thing. 
There is nothing so cheap as a dignified attitude. 
Underneath it can be concealed endless dulness, igno- 
rance and vulgarity. 

“You have asked me a question I can’t answer, 
High ton,” I replied. “ I know nothing about the feel- 
ings Florence may entertain towards you ; w T e are a 
proud and reticent family, and the idea of a match 
between her and you has never entered our heads. 
Although some good old blood flows in our veins, we 
are not quite of your monde, and the idea of a daughter 
of us marrying into a family into which she would 
be received coldly is painful to us. This may have 
occurred to Florence. Strange as it may seem to you 
who are accustomed to flattery, your possession of a 
title is rather against you in the eye of my people, and, 
possibly, of Florence too.” 

“Perhaps so,” he interrupted, “in Florence’s case, 
but I shouldn’t think your gov’nor thought so. The 
idea’s against human nature.” 

“ Ah ! but we Bailey-Martins are strange people ; we 
like a man for what he is. N ow, Rigliton, your charming 
qualities have endeared you to all of us. Florence, 
under an appearance of satirical indifference, must feel 
some of the pleasure your society brings with it. Your 
chances rest on yourself. Tell her what you feel like 
a man. She must decide for herself. It would not be 
right for us to interfere.” 

“ Of course I can do my own courting. Have I a 
chance ? That’s what I w T ant to know.” 

“ The best possible one, only I wanted you to under- 
stand how the matter really is.” 


MU. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


117 


“Well, I’ll have a shot, only don’t let your sister 
know before I have spoken to her.” 

If I could have depended on Florence, how great 
would have been my triumph ! But who can tell what 
a foolish girl will do ? 


CHAPTER XIV. 


We were not very talkative during the drive to 
Surbiton. Righton said he would have preferred the 
train because it was warmer, and the slippery road 
rendered the pleasure of driving my father’s horses a 
pastime of a dubious kind. 

It was six o’clock by the time we reached home. 
Florence was not visible, having already gone up to her 
room to dress. After the greetings were over I took 
Righton up to his room, where a great fire of wood and 
coal was burning cheerfully. 

“ It’s time to dress,” I said ; “ there is no one dining 
here to night, thank goodness. In fact there are no 
people in this place fit to he introduced to you, so I 
wouldn’t let my mother ask any of the neighbours with 
whom we exchange the periodical suburban dinner 
party.” 

“ Quite right, Martin, quite right. But do you think 
your sister bolted upstairs to get out of my way? 
Coming down like this gives a fellow a rum feeling, you 
know ; makes him fancy things.” 

But I laughed reassuringly. 

“ What nonsense ! we were late, and Florence only 
went upstairs to make a more elaborate toilette in your 
honour. But I must be off to dress.” 

118 


i/7?. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


119 


He called me back nervously. 

“ Martin ! You don’t think she suspects anything?” 

“ Not a bit of it.” 

“ Shall I propose to her to-night, Martin ? ” 

“ I should if I were you ; there’s nothing like getting 
the matter settled.” 

“ I think I could do it best after dinner.” 

“ So you shall. I’ll make her challenge you to 
billiards, and will keep the rest of the family out of the 
way. Keep up your spirits, Righton, and be the 
dashing, brilliant fellow you always are in the company 
of pretty women.” 

I left him and ran off to my father in great excite- 
ment. He was grumbling before his looking-glass 
about the bad colour of his shirt. 

“ Hallo, what’s the matter,” said he, “ have you got 
a brief at last ? ” 

“ It’s about Florence,” I said, excitedly. “ Florence 
and Righton. He has come down here with the inten- 
tion of proposing to her.” 

My father was a tall, ruddy man with a bald head. 
The pallor of his hairless crown was in strong contrast 
with the rich colour of his face. But my announce- 
ment sent the blood dancing through liis veins till the 
crown of his head distinctly glowed for an instant. It 
seemed to make him dizzy. If you think of it, the pros- 
pect was a great one for him. You know what his 
beginnings were. Now under his roof was a peer’s son, 
about to offer marriage to his daughter. 

« Be calm, my dear father, be calm,” I said, anx- 
iously. 

He sat down on the side of the bed in his shirt-sleeves 
to recover himself, and when the colour had receded 
from beneath the skin of his head to those regions 


120 


MU. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


where in times of peace it was won’t to circulate, I told 
him of my recent conversation with Righton. 

“ He thinks,” I said in conclusion, “ that you intend 
to settle £30,000 on Florence when she marries.” 

“ The deuce he does. Who told him so ? ” 

“ I said so ; put it out as a feeler you know, hut you 
could get off with a third of the amount ; all that could 
be arranged. I can manage Righton.” 

“ He won’t get much out of me whilst I last,” said 
my father, who was a true man of business. “ But we 
needn’t say anything about that till the marriage is 
arranged. Your sister ought to be proud.” 

And again the spasm of complacent self-gratulation 
shone through the lines of his face and the creases of 
his forehead. 

“ But suppose Florence refuse him,” I said. 

“Refuse him! Goodness gracious me! the thing’s 
impossible. Fancy refusing a Lord ! It’s impossible, 
unnatural ! ” 

“ It does appear odd, I allow,” replied I, “ but unless 
we manage her, the thing’s more than likely.” 

My father made no reply, but running to his door 
shouted “ mar,” a signal of distress evoking a “ coming, 
my dear,” from my mother below. 

“ Tell your mar all about it, Percival, for I’m too 
flustered.” 

I did, and before I had finished my mother was weep- 
ing with joy and excitement ; and what woman in the 
whole of Surbiton with grown-up daughters was there 
who would not have sympathized at these natural 
tears ! 

“ My darling child,” she said, “ at last there is some 
one worthy of her. I always felt she was fitted for a 
high position. How I shall miss her ! ” 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


121 


“ But, mother,” said I, “ she may not accept him.” 

The prospect effectually dried up my mother’s senti- 
ment. 

“ Rubbish and nonsense ! accept him, of course she 
will.” 

“ But you must tell her she must.” 

“ I shall do nothing of the kind. Florence will know 
what her duty is, and I will not interfere. I should 
only make mischief. Nothing puts a girl so against a 
lover as to have him crammed down her throat. Go 
and dress, Fereival, or you will be late.” 

“ Your mother’s right,” said my father. 

On reflection I felt this was true. The matter now 
was left in the hands of Providence and Florence, and 
it would he for them to decide whether she should be 
Lady Righton. 

You will readily understand my anxiety. I had 
been plotting and intriguing to bring about a marriage 
with Righton, and when my unselfish diplomacy for 
the advancement of my family ought to have been 
crowned with success it was depending on the caprice 
of a romantic and inexperienced girl. 

I found Florence in the drawing-room in front of the 
fire ; she scarcely looked at me as I entered. 

“ Still in disgrace,” thought I. I could have endured 
her displeasure at any other time with equanimity. 
Now it was inconvenient. 

“ Lord Righton not down yet ? ” I asked cheerfully. 

“ You see he is not,” she answered. 

I did, hut it was not encouraging to be told so. 

“ Been anywhere to-day, Florence ? ” 

“ I called on the Lyalls.” 

What on earth could she want there unless to pry 
into my affairs ? 


122 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


I felt she had heard something more about me. I 
naturally shied at the Lyalls. 

“ I’ll go and bring Righton down,” I said, hastily. 

If she were as icy with Righton, I could see his pro- 
posal would never be made. 

He was dressed and warming his legs before the fire. 

“ Is she down?” he asked. 

“Yes. She seemed glad you were here. ‘Go up 
and fetch Lord Righton, she said, to amuse me.’ Some- 
thing’s upset her. Some misunderstanding with her 
friend Miss Lyall, I fancy.” 

Then we went down. Florence and he shook hands. 
She said she was afraid he had had a cold drive. 

We sat down by the fire. The rest of the family 
were all deferring coming into the room in the vain 
hope Righton might make his declaration before dinner. 
The very servants, I am convinced, guessed what 
was brewing in the frosty silence of the drawing- 
room, where we three sat in a constrained manner 
before the fire. The appearance of the matronly form 
of my mother beaming with delight could scarcely 
thaw us. 

I shall not easily forget that dinner. My father was 
jovial, my mother full of affectionate care for Righton’s 
comfort, Bob inclined to be hilarious. I did my best 
to maintain the attitude of simple, unconscious dignity 
which, after deliberate consideration, I had found more 
suited to my temperament than the dashing style I 
had affected when at Oxford. But Florence was ab- 
sorbed in her own thoughts, and paid little heed to what 
occurred at dinner. I assure you it was maddening. 
When the ladies had gone Righton was himself again. 
We gave him port that night, “port fit for a Pope,” as 
he said. He waxed humorous. Port, he declared, was 


J IK. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


123 

the only wine which could subdue the teetotal element 
in his blood inherited from his mother’s side of the 
family. 

I had given Bob the necessary hint to get Florence 
into the billiard- room. W e arranged to smoke there. 
Our elders refused to come on the plea it was too 
draughty. 

“You don’t think they guess what’s up, do you?” 
Righton asked me in a suspicious whisper. But I 
assured him the draught was a bona fide current of air 
and chilled my father’s bald head. 

Florence likes billiards, and plays capitally. Bob 
and I sat over the fire watching and waiting for a good 
opportunity to leave them. A chance did not occur 
until I had supplied Righton with a strong brandy and 
soda, after which we both boldly walked off to get 
“ some of the governor’s new cigars.” If I had been 
going to propose myself I could not have been more 
nervous. 

Bob thought it a good joke. 

“ I’d give a month’s screw to hear Righton ‘ pop the 
question,’ and Florence decline with thanks.” 

There are few things to my mind more painful than 
to hear frivolous people joke about serious subjects. 

In the drawing-room my father and mother were 
sitting, pretending to read the evening papers, but 
probably wondering what it would be like to have a 
peer for a son-in-law. 

The minutes went by heavily till even the callous 
Robert was impressed. I strained my ears. The click 
of the billiard balls could no longer be heard in the 
distance. At last the door opened, and I heard Flor- 
ence’s step. My heart sank. I guessed she had re- 
fused him. Her face was pale but collected. 


124 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


“Well, my darling,” said my mother, in a voice full 
of meaning. 

“ Well, what, mamma ? ” 

“ Is it true ? Am I to congratulate my child ? Has 
Lord Righton asked her to be his wife ? ” 

“He has asked me,” she replied, “but too late. I 
am engaged already.” 

Here my memory becomes misty and uncertain. I 
have a sickening vision of a domestic storm, of my 
father scolding, and my mother weeping. There are 
incidents too full of pity for words, and this was one 
of them. 

I hurried to the billiard-room, and found Righton, 
with his hair rough, trying to take the cork out of a 
soda-water bottle. 

“ She’s refused me,” he said, “ because she likes 
another chap. I’m going to have a drink, and try and 
forget all about it.” 

I could say nothing, but in a silence full of pathos 
drew the cork for the man who so nearly became my 
brother-in-law, and emptied half of it into the liberal 
allowance of brandy which he had provided. Looking 
back, I still recall the manner in which he interposed 
a trembling hand. 

“ Don’t drown it,” he said, huskily, “ I want it 
strong.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


Florence’s selfishness inflicted a serious blow on the 
rest of the family. But in some human disappoint- 
ments there is a melancholy satisfaction. Some honours 
are enduring, others fleeting, and to have one’s daugh- 
ter rejecting the son of a peer is the next best thing to 
receiving him as a permanent family connection. The 
lesser glory had been ours and consoled my parents. 
Of the family wrangle that occurred on that memorable 
evening, naturally, the servants guessed the cause. 
Servants are amongst the most useful purveyors of 
news. In our case they were the means of starting 
the story through Surbiton. Those ladies who were 
on terms of affectionate intimacy called to see my 
mother and to suggest that, after all, it may be wiser 
to marry in one’s own class. As in all other well regu- 
lated communities, brought up in the orthodox tradi- 
tions of Church and State, our aristocracy is much 
admired at Surbiton. The value of birth is, in such 
centres, recognised in a manner which should serve as 
an example to the working-classes and to those per- 
verted people who go to chapels and try and persuade 
themselves all men are equal. If Florence had become 
Lady Righton and fluttered away into a haughty 
sphere outside the reach of wealthy stock-brokers and 
rich City men and the elect generally of suburban 

125 


126 


MB. BAILEY- M A R TIN. 


aristocracy, their sense of proportion would have re- 
ceived a severe shock. The marriage would have 
almost seemed irreligious. They would have been for- 
ever telling one another how after all the “ Oloptic ” 
was only a shop, and that once the present head of the 
Bailey-Martin family had sold pounds of tea with his 
own hand, standing behind his own counter. But that 
Florence should have refused a lord in order to keep 
her promise to a subaltern in a line regiment was 
pretty, sentimental, charming. And ladies at Surbiton, 
as well as elsewhere, “ adore ” idylls of this kind. It 
was almost like a story in the Family Herald. Conse- 
quently this incident which was a shock to us convert- 
ed Florence into such a heroine, that, on the following 
Sunday, when my mother and she were making their 
way to the family pew, an audible whisper of “ here 
she comes,” ran through the sacred edifice, and some 
of the ladies in their eagerness to see her almost rose 
in their seats. She became the rage ; all the other 
young women insisted on doing their hair in the 
fashion she had adopted, and two leading Ladies’ Jour- 
nals wrote, through their editors, to ask for her pho- 
tograph. 

In the first heat of his anger my father declared he 
would never give his consent to the marriage with 
Lambert. He and Florence had determined, for their 
own convenience, to keep their engagement a secret 
until he should get his company. But as the romantic 
nature of the match was enhanced by Florence’s sacri- 
fice of a peerage, my father went over to the side of the 
ladies, and he soon discovered that the Lamberts were 
“ one of the oldest families in England.” Are not 
their names scattered over the pages of our history ? 
and any father might he proud to see his daughter 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


127 


intermarry with a scion of the house. My mother 
liked Lambert, and I believe she and my father talked 
themselves to sleep for several nights over the advan- 
tages of this alliance. So the engagement became 
official, and Lambert was a frequent, as far as T 
am concerned a too frequent guest, at my father’s 
house., 

Personally I keenly felt the slight put upon my 
friend, and the ingratitude of my sister. My sensitive 
nature was wounded in more than one place by her 
rejection of Righton. There was the sense of an irrep- 
arable loss on her account, of Righton’s spoilt career, 
and of my own wasted efforts for the happiness of 
either. Ror could I conceal my indignation from my 
sister. In a few graphic words I showed her what a 
position she had sacrificed to girlish caprice. “You 
could,” I explained, “have easily broken off your 
engagement with Lambert after you had accepted 
Righton. Such things, we all know, are done in the 
best society every day.” But how true is the saying 
of the heathen philosopher — Plato — is it — or Socrates ? 
— that there are no foes like those of one’s own 
household. 

“ To have one member of the family,” she replied, 
“ able to break his word when it suited his convenience 
is enough.” Her allusion was too unfair and offensive 
to be tolerated. 

“ You are a hypocritical little shrew,” I cried. 
“ Luckily your folly will bring its own reward. To be 
a ‘ captain’s lady ’ in a line regiment in a garrison town 
will cure you of your airs and graces.” 

This burst of temper on my part put an end to all 
familiar intercourse between us, and, sick of my family 
and their friends, I returned to my chambers in the 


128 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


Temple, determined to give Surbiton a wide berth for 
some time to come. 

Moreover, some one had invented a disgraceful piece 
of scandal about me and Miss Lyall. But into this I 
need not go. My sister, I regret to say, believed it. 

But you would like to hear how Lord Righton bore 
his disappointment, which I cannot help thinking was 
a useful lesson to him. A dose of humiliation is often 
an excellent alterative. Still there was no reason why 
he should be unfair about it. For he was unfair, when 
he declared that I was to blame for allowing him to 
propose to my sister when I must have known of her 
attachment, if not her engagement, to Lambert. 

“ You egged me on, Martin,” he said, “ and I con- 
sider it a d — d unfriendly act.” 

Of course I protested. 

“ Pardon me, Righton,” I replied, with dignity, “ but 
you are unfair ; when you asked me if I thought my 
sister would accept you, I said I knew nothing about 
her feelings. Those were my very words.” 

“ Yes,” he answered, “ and you also said my title was 
against my chances. Bunkum ! I didn’t believe it. I 
remember I told you it was unnatural.” 

“ It was true.” 

“ Then it’s a peculiar thing your gov’nor doesn’t 
agree with you. He came into my room, and said your 
sister must be mad in refusing me, humbly apologised 
for the slight, and all that sort of thing. ‘Try her 
again, m’lord,’ the old chap said, ‘try her again.’ ‘jSTo, 
thanks,’ I answered, ‘dessay I’d make a first-rate 
son-in-law, but as Miss Florence likes the other John- 
nie, I cave in.’ ” 

The fatuous old fool, my father ! This was the first 
I had heard of it. This painful scene must have taken 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


129 


place whilst I was expostulating with Florence. Could 
anything have been more discreditable to the family ? 

“ Look here, Martin,” continued Right on, “ your 
sister is the one of your family that ran the straightest. 
You let me into a nasty hole, and I shan’t forget it.” 

This conversation, that took place in the empty 
smoking room of the Celibate , created a coolness be- 
tween us, and a few days after it occurred Righton 
went to America without wishing me good-bye. 

Righton had been the lever by which I had hoped 
to raise the family. He had enabled me to give them 
a lift too. This was now all over. So far as he was 
concerned they must live on their past glory. The 
time had come for me to think of my own future. 

If my autobiography were a work of fiction, or I the 
hero of a novel, I should in course of time rise to emi- 
nence in my profession as a barrister. But this is an 
uncompromising record of facts. Any levity in their 
treatment on my part would rob my story of its value. 
I do not pretend to be a perfect character, nor have I 
laid it bare in its most secret places for the mere pleas- 
ure of talking about myself, but from the conviction 
it contains an unobtrusive moral lesson. If all contem- 
porary literature were to be destroyed and this brief 
account of my career alone saved, an accurate picture 
of the moral condition of an intelligent, energetic, and 
earnest-minded young man of the upper middle-class 
would be preserved for future generations. Supposing 
Livy had left such a record of his life, how much 
more he would have taught us than by the historical 
works with which at school and college I obtained — 
against my will — a superficial acquaintance. No one 
knows what a Roman of Caesar’s time actually thought 
about, because none of them ever had the courage to 

9 


130 


MR. B A ILEY-MA R TIN. 


speak the truth. But I have. The dignity of my 
character and the probity of my conduct have alone 
permitted this. In these pages you see me at my 
worst. I have concealed nothing, nor am I blind to my 
own faults. One of our modern poets has somewhere 
remarked that — 

“ Every heart when sifted well, 

Is a clot of warmer dust, 

Mix’d with cunning sparks of hell.” 

but this, as my life shows, is not always the case. 

It was now clear to me that I did not possess the 
requisite qualities for attaining eminence at the bar. 
In fact, I admit that the other branch of the profession 
would have suited me better. I think I should have 
made rather a good solicitor, for I had business aptitude. 
But as an advocate I lacked the fervour, industry, and 
forensic ability necessary for success. I was tried once 
or twice as a junior in some trifling cases connected 
with the “ Oloptic,” which my father’s interest obtained 
for me, but the work did not suit me. To master facts 
concerning which you have personally no interest, and 
to arrange them dexterously before a judge who has 
made up his mind about them before you commence to 
address the court, is beyond my powers. If I were to 
rise in the world it must be by my social qualities, not 
by my skill as an advocate. On the professional part 
of my story, therefore, I need not dwell. Beyond con- 
vincing my father that I was gradually creeping into 
practice, and talking vaguely to my mother of “ my 
prospects at the Chancery Bar,” to persuade her of the 
laborious nature of my occupations, I did not permit 
my profession to interfere with my plans or my pleas- 
ures. Socially I was gaining ground. I made friends 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


131 


at the Celibate Club, and was invited to some “ good 
houses.” I mean where people do not ask who Mr. 
Bailey-Martin might he, hut are ready to take him as 
the friend of Lord Righton or of his sister, Lady Ger- 
trude. In suburban society, the leaders of fashion are 
always afraid their smartest neighbours on investiga- 
tion x>rove merely tradespeople in disguise, with “ actu- 
ally a shop in the borough, my dear.” You have no 
idea how hard it is to live down a shop. Ask my 
father, ask my mother; they can tell you. But in the 
society into which I was gradually making my way, I 
found amusing and agreeable people most in request. 
Besides, when people are “somebody,” they are very 
ready to accept their acquaintances as “ somebodies ” too. 

Then I found Bohemianism was fashionable, espe- 
cially amongst young barristers with no briefs. The 
votaries of art, literature, and law, aim, at the earlier 
stages of their career, at the unconventional. I dis- 
covered it useful to become unconventional myself, to 
affect radical social ideas, to mock at the philistines, to 
deride English puritanism. I was elected a member of 
that charming little Club, the “ Scalp Hunters,” fre- 
quented by authors, actors, artists, journalists. I found 
the “Scalp Hunters” a highly amusing institution. 
Situated in a narrow street near the Strand, in a musty, 
ancient, and picturesque house the members have per- 
suaded themselves is the centre of “ intellectual Lon- 
don.” I would hesitate myself to fix this radiant focus 
of the metropolitan mind in any locality, but it is 
natural that journalists should find it in the Strand or 
Fleet Street. The “Scalp Hunters,” who were not 
intellectual, Avere quite Avilling to believe it when they 
were told so. The only qualifications for the club were 
literary, artistic, or scientific tastes. I remember my 


132 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


qualifications were described in the members’ book as 
“ scientific.” Why, I cannot remember, unless because 
once the Rev. Theophilus Bland gave me a prize for 
alsrebra when there was no one else in the school learn- 
ing it. Bland used to be lavish with prizes. The boys 
generally believed he charged for them in the bill, but 
this was not the case. I remember lie asked me what 
he should say my prize — “ The Swiss Family Robinson ” 
— was for. “Algebra, please, sir,” said I. So he wrote 
“ 1st prize for Algebra” on the fly leaf, and J still pos- 
sess the book as a trophy of mathematical superiority 
over competitors that did not exist. 

But excuse this digression. I was pleased to be a 
“ Scalp Hunter.” When nearly every club was closed in 
London you could drop in there and find the members 
drinking bottled beer and eating chops and steaks, sit- 
ting round the same long table. Everybody talked at 
once, everybody had a funny story to tell, if he could 
find another member to listen. The members were rude 
or affectionate to each other as they chose. The club 
gave me a new view of life. At Surbiton we are prim 
and genteel ; at Lady Gertrude’s, serious and dull ; at 
the “ Scalp Hunters ” every man was natural. Pompos- 
ity and moral starch will not protect you there. Those 
who suffer from either avoid it. My own manner was 
against me at first. My immaculate shirt front and 
aristocratic indifference subjected me to some derision. 
When at first I entered the supper-room, where the 
men were all smoking, some preferring long clays, they 
used to inquire after my friend the Duchess, and call 
me “ the curled darling of the saloons,” or ask if the 
menu at Marlborough House was to my liking, and that 
if not I must have it altered the next time I dined with 
the Prince. This was, of course, out of envy on account 


M R. n A IL E Y-MA R TIN. 


133 


of the society in which I moved, hut, strange as it may 
seem, the rowdy rollicking club helped to remove from 
my manner the taint of provincialism acquired at Sur- 
biton. People are fond of talking of the formative 
influences which they think have moulded their char- 
acters. The “ Scalp Hunters,” with its general atti- 
tude of genial defiance towards most human institu- 
tions we are taught to venerate, was not without its 
influence on my mental development, and has prevented 
me from being shocked at the most outrageous or 
eccentric opinion. 

Apart from politics, which by the rules of the club 
were not discussed, radicalism in art, literature, ethics 
was the prevalent tone. I have actually heard a gray- 
haired man of letters and father of a family discourse 
seriously on the advantages of polygamy, and declare 
that personally he did not practise it on account of the 
expense in the then depressed state of literature. After 
he had advocated this in eloquent terms worthy of a 
better subject, all the other men present laughed, and 
monogamy did not find a single defender except myself. 
“ The Scalp I Iunters ” were much more amusing than 
the Celibate, but did not wear nearly such nice clothes. 
The club proved a solace t6 me. I could unbend there, 
or, to be accurate, I learnt to unbend there. It was a 
pleasing contrast to Lady Gertrude’s frigid drawing- 
room and tepid philosophy. 

But I must not delay over details of life, pleasant 
though they are to look back upon. Time was moving 
on. Righton returned from America and ultimately 
took me back into his favour. I was necessary to him. 
The mortgage his sister held became bi-annually due, 
and if I had not persuaded her to renew it, would have 
gone hard with him. 


ME. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


134 

In June my sister was married. It was a grand wed- 
ding and made a great stir. The men of Lambert’s 
regiment sent a body-guard, and all the ladies said 
Florence made a lovely bride. But even then my sister 
and I were not cordial. She was somewhat of an un- 
forgiving nature. I am afraid poor Lambert must have 
discovered this, although he is devoted to her ; she had 
not pardoned me because Edith Lyall wilfully mis- 
understood my intentions. The Lamberts started for 
India two weeks after their marriage. The parting 
between us was not affectionate, nor can I forget that 
her last words to me were used with satirical intent. 

“ Good-bye, Percival,” she said, gravely, as she stood 
on the threshold of the house she was leaving beside 
her husband ; “ good-bye, and don’t forget that the 
first duty you owe is to yourself.” 

My father and mother missed her, and somehow the 
house was gloomy without her. There was no one to 
arrange the flowers, no amusing chatter to enliven the 
sombre dinner-table, which an aching silence would now 
swallow up, broken only by my father’s sighs as he 
glanced towards her empty place. My mother and he 
used to talk about Florence half through the night, 
and Bob told me, for the first fortnight, they both cried 
themselves regularly to sleep. But I have no patience 
with such sentiment. Why two people should fret 
about a child who is happy because she fancies she has 
made a good marriage is beyond my comprehension. 
I could not share their grief. Why should I ? 

Yet, somehow at this time I was not so much in 
favour at home. My mother discovered I “only 
thought about myself,” simply because I assured her 
she could not expect to keep her children, meaning 
Florence, about her all her life. How irrational old 


M n . B A IL E Y-MA R TIN. 


135 


ladies are ! Next she supposed that I was so much 
absorbed with my own grand friends that I forgot my 
poor lonely parents. “Why, mother,” I said, “you 
have Bob.” Bob I admit is an odd consolation. “ Bob 
indeed,” she exclaimed, “ why he is almost as selfish 
as you.” 

Having convinced herself of my selfishness, she next 
set about demonstrating the fact to my father. As 
sometimes happens with superstitious people as they 
advance in life, she began to take very serious views — 
“ other worldly ” views, as some one has well called 
them. She informed him this was because I had re- 
fused to enter the Church and had become a “ lawyer.” 
Confound it ! she has always insisted I am a lawyer. 
I had grown too proud, she supposed, to introduce any 
of my high acquaintances to my family. Moreover, I 
was spending a great deal of money I had not earned, 
and only “ talking about ” the Chancery Bar. In con- 
sequence of this, my father paid me an unexpected 
visit at my chambers one morning about eleven o’clock 
before I was up. I had assisted the night before at an 
intellectual symposium at the “ Scalp Hunters.” He 
has a bourgeois horror of lying in bed in the morning, 
and is ready to believe a man capable of any atrocity 
who can sleep after nine o’clock. He delivered him- 
self of a long and tedious lecture, whilst I, with a 
wracking headache, the result of the punch with 
which the “ Scalp Hunters ” are accustomed to refresh 
their wits, was dressing. He informed me that he 
was disappointed in me, and considered me a bad 
investment for his money. Bland’s, Harrowby, Oxford, 
the Bar ; they were all crammed down my throat because 
they had not rendered me capable of earning a penny. 
He was, he assured me, with needless reiteration, tired 


136 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN . 


of keeping me in idleness. To be dragged from sleep 
and preached at is extremely irritating, and I am afraid 
I did not exactly soothe him. “ I give you one more 
year,” he finally said, “ after that your allowance 
will be stopt and you must shift for yourself.” 

Then, to my great relief, he left me, for my head 
bumped like the screw of a steamer. If one cannot 
find gratitude in one’s own father, where is one to ex- 
pect it ? My readers know what I had done for the 
family, and here was my father reducing the whole 
question to one of pounds, shillings and pence. Why 
will English people of the middle classes estimate a 
man’s value by his capacity for earning money ? 


CHAPTER XVI. 


A few days after this I had an interview with Bob. 
I had been obliged to give a few little dinners at the 
Celibate, had taken a party to Ascot, and one or two 
other social little festivities of that sort, besides, had 
rather cleared out my ready money. I could not very 
well ask my father for a cheque, so I naturally went to 
Bob, who was living at home, and who ought to have 
been saving money. You will, I am sure, scarcely 
credit it, but he refused. 

“ Sorry not to oblige you,” he said, without a blush, 
“ but I can’t see how you will pay it back again. I’m 
a man of business.” 

Then he took advantage of my humiliating position 
to lecture me and to inform me how both my parents 
suspected me of idleness and dissipation. 

“They had both persuaded themselves you were 
going to be Lord Chancellor,” he said, maliciously, 
“ and now they find you don’t understand your busi- 
ness, they’ve cut up deuced rough. Your swell friends, 
after all, are no use to anybody, especially since Flor- 
ence’s marriage. I tell you I’m pretty sick of hearing 
’em grumble about you.” 

“ And what do you tell them ? ” I asked. 

“ Why, that it’s their fault. They should have sent 
you to a good school and stuck you into business. 
What’s the good o’ bringing a chap up like a Duke 
when he ain’t a Duke ? That’s what I ask them ! ” 

137 


188 


Mil. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


I fancied I could hear him doing it. 

I shuddered at the idea of a commercial education and 
the Oloptic, when T looked at Bob with his spats and his 
city manner. I might under other circumstances have 
actually grown to be something like him. Poor Bob ! 
he never knew how dark I had to keep him, and has 
always been bitter because I refused to introduce him 
to any of my “ SAvell friends,” as he called my acquaint- 
ances. I assure you I would have no more dared to 
ask him to dine with me at the Celibate Club than to 
have invited my laundress’s husband, a decent man in 
the plumbing and glazing line. 

“ The truth is, Percival,” continued Bob, “ you’ve side 
and cheek enough for anything. I don’t deny that, 
but as a barrister you ain't in the running. You’d 
better ask the governor to make a place for you in the 
Oloptic, under me, you know, under me.” 

Fancy me in the Oloptic, and under Bob, too ! 

“ With your patronage, Robert,” I said, “ perhaps, 
he might be induced to do so.” 

“ You see, Percival, the gov’nor’s wild because he 
thinks you ashamed of the family. He says you never 
come to Surbiton unless you want something, and as 
for your swell pals we never even see their coat-tails.” 

“My dear Robert, you don’t understand, excuse me 
for saying so, but you really don’t understand these 
sort of things. How do you expect men like Murga- 
troyd of the Guards, or Bertie Hensliaw, Lord Guns- 
berry’s eldest son, will stand you, the gov’nor and the 
mater. To make you all meet would be to inflict a 
common wrong on you all. They wouldn’t understand 
the strong suburban flavour for which our domestic 
circle is remarkable, now Florence has gone, nor would 
any of you be comfortable in their society.” 


MR. BA IL E Y-MA R TIX. 


139 


Bob was not to be made angry. 

“Well, yon are a ‘dook,’ Percival, to be sure, and 
really ought to have a title. I’ll tell the gov’nor how 
very anxious you are your swell friends should not 
have a chance of wounding our delicate feelings. 
You’ll, perhaps, find it a trifle humiliating, though, 
when you have to stick a pen behind your ear in the 
Oloptic office, but, perhaps, Murgatroyd o’ the Guards, 
and Bertie Henshaw, Lord Gunsberry’s eldest son, will 
drop in and talk to you through the trap-door, where 
you’ll have to stamp the customers’ bills. Joking 
apart, he swears the only way to make you work is to 
stop supplies, and, as you’re not likely to try that beat, 
you’ll soon find yourself in a nasty tight place.” 

Alas! one’s own household is often the last place 
where one finds gratitude. 

I had once, in my fond credulity, dared to think my 
fashionable career was pleasing to my family, but now 
I discovered it only hardened my brother’s heart 
against me, and inspired him with jealousy. 1, too, 
was learning, in the words of the psalmist, “how 
sharper than a serpent’s tooth, it is to have a thank- 
less ” brother. 

How often are we deceived in our confidence in 
others ! My brother had refused the request I made 
him with gross indelicacy, and would, I doubted not, 
inform my father of it, in order to lower me still more 
in the parental esteem. 

But in the picturesque, but vulgar language of my 
brother Robert, I was, indeed, in a somewhat “ tight 
place.” I had reached, in fact, a point in my career 
when it behoves a man to measure his chances as 
accurately as he can. My father would, if it came to 
the worst, find a place for me in the Oloptic. But 


140 


J\1R. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


picture the humiliation of it. Besides, I did not pos- 
sess the commonplace, vulgar qualities which would 
enable me to do the odious work decently. “ The Cel- 
ibate,” the “ Scalp Hunters,” Lady Gertrude’s supercili- 
ous drawing-room, do not prepare a man for a business 
career. In society, I was known as a young and agree- 
able man at the Bar, heir to a large income. To be- 
come a clerk at the Oloptic and peep out at the people 
from a trap-door, like a booking-clerk, was too degrad- 
ing a position for me to consider. The Oloptic was 
out of the question ; to endeavour to succeed at the 
Bar hopeless ; to live on my father would become im- 
possible in twelve short months. He was a man of 
his word, one that in questions of money has the cour- 
age of his prejudices. Had he not already called me a 
“ bad investment,” and assured me he was “ weary of 
supporting me in idleness?” What was I to do? The 
prospect of falling ignominiously from the society into 
which I had so skilfully pushed my way was not 
endurable. I have always felt that I was intended for 
what is best. One of nature’s aristocrats, I am ill at 
ease and breathe with difficulty when confined to the 
bourgeois social environment from which I had raised 
myself. 

So I sat in my chambers, hour after hour, reflecting. 
Strange, how suddenly the truth sometimes flashes in 
on one ! All at once the inner self with which T was 
communing spoke to me in a voice of encouragement 
and comfort. “Percival,” it seemed to say, “ you must 
marry.” “ Marry ! ” repeated the echoing thought, 
“ Marry whom ? ” Then came the quiet reply, impres- 
sive and convincing, “ A lady of wealth and position.” 
I rose with a stronger pulse from the arm-chair, and 
looked at myself in the glass. The reflection was a 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


141 


singularly pleasing one, if modesty will allow me to 
say so. My face has always been one that women 
have found attractive. I possess a silky voice, a sooth- 
ing, tender manner, such as women love ; a white soft 
hand. “ As a wooer, a serious wooer,” surely, I 
thought, “ I need fear no rivals.” And so the convic- 
tion grew as I perceived the way to safety lay, as in all 
well-regulated societies it must, in the domestic tie ; 
the tie by which the social order of things is bound 
together. 

“ By heavens ! ” i cried, “ I will make a great mar- 
riage.” Then seizing my ivory-backed brushes, I 
brushed my silky brown hair back from the wide brow 
on which it clustered. This I did not in the spirit of 
vanity, but in that of thoughtful investigation. I men- 
tion it here, merely to show you the serious and practi- 
cal manner in which I was preparing to enter on an 
undertaking which, until that moment, had been an 
unrealised shadow on my mind. 

I have no doubt you have guessed the lady. In these 
confessions, personally, so far as the reader is aware, I 
have been associated only with two. With Edith Lyall 
I had broken because she was unreasonable and ex- 
pected more than I was in a position to offer. Space 
would not allow me to give you all the details of my 
life. Were it possible, it would be seen that my sympa- 
thetic nature sought a delicate and refined consolation 
in the society of amiable women of all classes. But the 
spirit of love in youth is as imponderable as a gas. 
Its existence may be taken for granted in my case, but 
only so far as it has affected my career have I deemed 
it necessary to dwell on it. I assure you, a pretty 
woman cannot pass me in the street, even if she be 
pushing a perambulator full of other people’s children, 


142 


Mil. BAIL E Y-MA 11 TIM. 


and escape my notice. The lady of whom I was now 
destined to think, as you have divined, was Lady Ger- 
trude. Life is full of compensations if we can only find 
them. My sister had refused Lord Righton. Now if 
his sister would marry me it would make a dramatic 
incident and connect two families whom Providence 
evidently designed to associate. Who could doubt it? 
Each wanted what the other had to give. We had 
beauty, vigour and energy, qualities that they, in course 
of time, had managed to lose. My family was rising, 
theirs decadent. In this process of progress and retro- 
gression they were now moving in the same plane. 
Henceforth why should they not go forward together ? 
Mine be it then to rescue a decaying but noble family, 
and raise it to the social supremacy it by right pos- 
sessed. How inspiriting a task ! how noble an ambi- 
tion ! No wonder it filled me with enthusiasm. At 
last I had a worthy object. From that day forward I 
determined to lay aside every trivial object that turned 
me from my purpose. From that day, like a knight of 
old, I would pin my Lady Gertrude’s favours to my helm. 
No, no, Burke was wrong. The age of chivalry is not 
dead. It still flourishes amongst us here at the end 
of the prosaic nineteenth century in a few favoured 
places. Chivalry is not dead. It has merely changed 
its form. “ The old order changeth, giving place to 
new.” I would no longer he an idler ! My resolution 
had been made. With a lighter heart than for many 
a week, 1 hurried off to dine at the Celibate Club, where, 
in honour of my resolve, I treated myself to a bottle of 
my favourite, not too dry champagne. For are not such 
days the festivals in our lives rather than the annually 
recurrent date when our mothers gave us birth ? 


CHAPTER XVII. 


When I awoke on the following morning my purpose 
rushed over me. The enterprise seemed more arduous 
than ever. Our moods alter the proportions of our 
undertakings. With me a big thing looks colossal 
before breakfast. After dinner, under a different mental 
lens, the most formidable of its features will disappear. 

When I rang Lady Gertrude’s bell that afternoon a 
novel flutter of excitement passed within me. If I 
were an American novelist I would pick it to pieces, by 
analytical and synthetical process. For it was a big 
emotion teeming with meaning. But I am a plain, 
straightforward Englishman, and only know my heart 
beat, and am not ashamed to confess the weakness. 

Lady Gertrude was sitting in her library, whither, 
as an intimate friend, I was shown by the servant. She 
was before a table covered with proofs and manuscripts, 
and looked up as I entered in a dazed manner, her pale 
eyes gleaming abstractedly through the glasses of her 
pince-nez, which had made two little dents on either 
side of her nose. 

“Dear Lady Gertrude,” I said, in the voice of feeling 
in which I know not why I always communicated with 
her, “ on what weary work for the benefit of others 
are you now taxing your strength ? ” 

“ I am drawing up a plan for a new weekly paper. 
See,” she said, handing me a proof, “ here is the address 
which I propose to issue to my readers.” 


143 


144 


MB. BAILEY-MABTIN. 


It was long, diffuse, tedious, full of terms picked out of 
Herbert Spencer’s Sociology and of Frederic Harrison’s 
Positivism, as I afterwards learnt, though at that time 
the tiresome writings of neither of these overrated men 
were familiar to me. To my sorrow I had to study 
them afterwards. 

“ It is,” I said, “ admirable, very admirable. To a 
man of culture it appeals with all the force, well — ah 
— all the force your plastic brain has given it. But it 
has one fault : it is over the heads of the people whom 
you are addressing.” (It was over mine.) 

“ I feared as much,” she answered. 

“ But,” I said, “ Lady Gertrude, you do not intend to 
undertake alone the work of starting this paper, — as yet, 
I perceive, without a name ? ” 

“ Sit down, Mr. Bailey-Martin. I will explain my 
project.” 

I sat down at the table beside her, whilst Lady Ger- 
trude addressed me for three-quarters of an hour. I 
cannot remember her words, nor, fortunately, is it 
necessary. 

Reduced to its lowest dimensions, her scheme was 
to bring out a paper to familiarise the working-classes 
with the teachings of the modern thinkers. Positivism, 
evolution, spiritualism, Biblical criticism, were all 
to be discussed in the leading columns, in the place of 
politics, whilst the paper was to be “ lightened ” by 
miscellaneous articles on literary and sociological sub- 
jects. 

“ The scheme is entirely novel, as you will admit,” 
said Lady Gertrude, when at last I assured her I 
grasped her meaning in all its varied profundity, “and 
is sure to pay.” 

I admitted the startling nature of its novelty, but 


MB. BAILEY-MAETIN. 


145 


feared it would not pay just at first. “ But,” I added, 
“ in such an enterprise as the one you have undertaken 
with such unflinching courage, one must not regard 
the commercial aspect too closely.” 

“ But I should like it to pay,” she said. 

“ Pay it shall,” I exclaimed. “ Lady Gertrude, I feel I 
have done little for my fellow -men. I should like to 
do some good in the world. Will you give me a share 
in your scheme ? Let me help to teach the grovelling 
mob which know not Herbert Spencer, and drag on a 
weary existence, day after day, in ignorance of the 
simplest laws of evolution. ‘The hungry sheep look 
up and are not fed ! ’ The Time Spirit moves, but they 
heed him not — the— — ” 

But Lady Gertrude interrupted my eloquence with a 
thin cry of triumph. 

“ Eureka ! you have hit it. The name of our paper 
shall be the ‘Time Spirit,’ its price a penny-ha’- 
penny, to suit the pocket of the more inquiring and 
better-paid artisan at whose conversion I aim.” And 
Lady Gertrude beamed on me. 

“ It is your name,” she said. “ Mr. Bailey-Martin, I 
accept your offer of aid. You shall help me to organise 
this paper. Your clear, business-like brain will be 
invaluable.” 

Two hours later I returned to my chambers assistant- 
editor of the “ Time Spirit,” still in embryo. I knew 
no more of literary or journalistic work than of the 
abstruse subjects which Lady Gertrude intended to 
popularize. But what of that? Were we not col- 
leagues engaged'on the same task ? From thence to a 
closer union would be but a step. It was obviously 
worth while submitting to considerable boredom in 
order to increase my influence over Lady Gertrude. 

10 


146 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


Even female philosophers are subject, possibly in a 
minor degree, to the amiable weakness. of their sex. 
Any biographical dictionary will show this. “Cul- 
ture” had taught Lady Gertrude to throw overboard 
all the ballast of caste prejudice she had inherited 
at her birth. A mind that had pastured on modern 
philosophy naturally prefers “ worth to rank and high 
estate.” “ Philosophy’s sweet milk,” was all on my side. 
In that long and intimate talk on sociological subjects 
on which the “ Time Spirit ” was to throw light I ascer- 
tained that on all questions of the relations of the sexes, 
Lady Gertrude held the most liberal notions. She was 
not, she admitted, prepared to go so far as some of her 
radical friends, and substitute for the marriage tie a 
partnership that might be broken to suit the caprice 
of “ either contracting party ; ” although she granted a 
more advanced stage in social evolution would probably 
see “ striking modifications in the existing customs.” 
This gave me an opportunity of stating my opinion. 
“ As we are to work together,” said I, “ perhaps I had 
better frankly state my views. I fear you will think 
them old-fashioned. A man can have but one guide 
in these matters. Love is amongst the elemental forces 
of our nature. When the affections speak, the intellect 
is silent.” 

With a sigh half suppressed, Lady Gertrude feared 
I was right. 

I had made Lady Gertrude a number of promises 
about the “ Time Spirit,” which, unaided, I could not 
have fulfilled. I knew nothing about journalism, but 
I was acquainted with a good many journalists, from 
the pompous producers of leading articles in the London 
daily papers, to the shiny-sleeved contributors to the 
cheap society journals. To all young men commencing 


ME. BAILE Y-MAE TIN. 


147 


life I have another important piece of advice to give: 
Cherish the society journalist, make a friend of him, 
ask him to show you his articles, praise them lavishly. 
Assure him their “style is refined and graphic,” or 
“ vigorous and incisive,” as the case may he. Give him 
cigars, and, if presentable, invite him to lunch at your 
Club. The money and trouble will not be wasted. 
You never know when you may need his help. I 
have known professional men rise to eminence and 
fortune by a dexterous use of journalists. They are a 
good-natured, easy-going race. A puffing paragraph 
costs them little, and may mean much to you. The 
“ Scalp Hunters” swarmed with them. The “ Time 
Spirit ” wanted their help. 

On the evening after my visit to Lady Gertrude I 
went there, and found the man I wanted drinking 
whiskey and water and smoking a briar-root pipe. Ilis 
name is Blake. Not many of the “Scalp Hunters” 
knew this, for he is generally known as “Jimmie.” 
This identifies him anywhere. lie is a clever little, idle, 
dissolute fellow, endowed with what seems to me an 
almost miraculous power of stringing phrases together. 
It is strange to find he often knows no more of the 
subject on which he has been writing than can be learnt 
by a brief and hurried glance at the pages of a second- 
hand, out-of-date encyclopedia. Of the modern thinkers 
at whom Lady Gertrude proposed to set her literary 
cap, I am sure he knew no more than I did ; but I was 
convinced he was able to write about them by the yard. 
Jimmie is not a very sober man, and, what is worse 
in Fleet Street, not to be relied upon. Editors cannot 
trust the reckless phrase-spinner, so he lives, as he says, 
on “ a column here, a half-column there,” like a London 
sparrow on the crumbs of accident. Jimmie is much 


148 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


liked at the “ Scalp Hunters,” although always in arrears 
with his subscription and in debt to the steward. The 
Committee allow him unusual latitude, and, generally, 
one of his friends pays his annual subscription and 
settles the claim of the steward, or little Jimmie would 
have his name erased from the list of “ Scalp Hunters.” 
Though he has tumbled downstairs twice, and fallen 
asleep at the supper-table when guests of distinction 
have been present, the Club remains true to Jimmie, 
though he sadly disgraces it. He is, they fondly 
imagine, a survival of a type of the London literary 
Bohemian fast disappearing, and so they are proud 
of him. Jimmie was to be had cheap, and I meant 
to employ him on the “ Time Spirit.” 

I soon explained what I wanted. 

“You edit a paper, Martin,” he said, his little red 
and watery eyes rolling with surprise, “well, I’m 
blowed ! what next, I wonder.” 

Then I informed him that a man of title and fortune 
was desirous of starting a paper and had appointed me 
as editor of it. 

“ But will he pay ? ” asked Jimmie, “ and how much 
a column ? ” 

These, 1 said, were questions to be settled later. 
The name of the proprietor must be kept secret, but I 
assured him he should be remunerated for his help. I 
refused to tell him more that evening, and made an 
appointment for the following day at my chambers. 
He appeared, washed, shaved, and brushed, in quite a 
business-like mood. Then I disclosed to him the object 
of the paper and its name. He screamed with laughter, 
but supposed that as long as my swell friend was will- 
ing “to drop” his money he and I might as well pick 
it up. 


MR. BAIL E Y r MA R TIN. 


149 


“What a privilege it is to possess an intelligent 
aristocracy, to be sure. This one will work wonders 
amongst the masses with his three-ha’ porth of well- 
watered philosophy. I suppose you want me to do 
the mixing. Well, what are the terms? Come. I’ll 
contribute for a quid a column. I can’t speak ‘ fairer 
nor that.’ ” 

Finally, Jimmie introduced me to a grey-haired old 
gentleman in a narrow street near Fetter Lane, who 
was willing to “ do the publishing for us.” The pub- 
lisher introduced me to his son-in-law,- who undertook 
to do the printing. With Jimmie’s aid, I made some 
other initial arrangements, enlisting in our service a 
young Jew, included in the wide circle of Jimmie’s 
friends, as a “useful gentleman to get advertisements.” 
Finally, in three or four days, I had smoothed the way 
for the appearance of the “ Time Spirit.” 

Lady Gertrude was delighted with everything, except 
the expenses. “ Where is the money to come from ? ” 
said she. 

Then a happy thought occurred to me. 

“If,” said I, “you will subscribe the first £1,000, I 
will subscribe the second. By that time, it will be a 
paying concern.” 

She consented with a wry face, and paid the sum 
into a bank in the name of the “ Time Spirit,” from 
which I could draw for the current expenses. 

Oh, those happy days, full of moments of hope, of 
charming intimacy, when Gertrude — she permitted me 
now to call her Gertrude — and I worked together. She 
wrote all the leading articles, which I passed on to 
Jimmie, secretly retained by me at a remuneration of 
£5 a week, to “ lick into shape,” as he said. How they 
made him laugh ! But they were so smartened up when 


150 


MR. BAILEY-MA R TIX. 


he gave me a corrected proof that Gertrude was de- 
lighted. 

“You have given me exactly the popular touch I need,” 
she said, much pleased with our double performance. 

At last, the first number of the “ Time Spirit ” ap- 
peared. Gertrude welcomed it with as much tenderness 
as most women lavish on a baby. But was it not our 
intellectual child? We sold five hundred copies and 
printed a thousand. On the day of its publication, a 
string of sandwich-men paraded the streets, announc- 
ing the first issue of a weekly journal intended “ to 
fill ” the usual intellectual void. But perhaps you have 
seen the poster. Both the paper and poster excited 
much hilarity at the “ Scalp Hunters.” 

Lord Righton was, I regret to say, opposed to the 
rapidly-increasing intimacy between his sister and my- 
self, but, as he owed her money, he did not for some 
time find it convenient to interfere himself, although, as 
I afterwards learnt, requested his mother to point out 
to Lady Gertrude the indiscretion of her conduct. Our 
literary partnership brought us into the closest inti- 
macy. We dined together, visited the play together, 
were seen together at Private Views, in the Park, in 
Piccadilly. I was becoming necessary to Lady Ger- 
trude. Once when I ran down to Surbiton for a res- 
pite from the “ Time Spirit,” she wrote, requesting me 
to return, as she needed my advice. 

Finally, after thirty-four years of virtuous, if eccen- 
tric, spinsterhood, fourteen of which had been spent in 
her own home, scandal began to wag its wicked tongue. 
Society papers reported that “ Lady G., the editor of 
the new philosophic weekly, was present at the Private 
View of Mr. So-and-So’s pictures in Bond Street, accom- 
panied, of course, by Mr. P. B-M.” 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


151 


The human mind is a very strange contrivance. 
You would naturally consider it would pain a lady of 
Gertrude’s sensitive morals to be the subject of scan- 
dalous rumours. It had exactly a contrary effect. 
It actually pleased her. Of course she never said so, 
but she never missed an opportunity of being seen in 
public with me. At last, just after the publication of 
our fourth number, of which we sold only three hun- 
dred copies, and printed four columns of decoy adver- 
tisements, a letter of expostulation was sent to Lady 
Gertrude by her mother, the Countess of Marlington. 
We were looking over proofs together in her library 
when it arrived. 

“ From my mother,” said Gertrude. “ It is two 
years since she last wrote. What can she want ? ” A 
flush faintly showed on her pale cheeks as she read 
it. It did not arise from displeasure, although I 
felt it would be wise to pretend it did. 

“ I fear your letter gives you pain,” I said, gently. 

“ It is,” she replied, “ an impertinent commu- 
nication from the bigoted old lady I possess as a 
mother.” 

“I have feared something of the kind for long,” 
I said. “You have had the courage to step aside 
from the conventional path, and, like all other social 
reformers, must pay the penalty of your daring.” 

“You shall read it,” she said, and passed the letter 
to me. 

“Your conduct, Gertrude,” wrote the old lady, in an 
exasperating hand, “has gone from bad to worse in 
the godless career you have chosen for yourself. I 
now learn, on the convincing authority of your own 
printed word, that you are wasting your fortune in the 


152 


MB. BAILEY-MABTIN. 


dissemination of infidel doctrines, in the company of a 
young man of the middle class, whom you have trained 
in your own atheistical views. Y ou are disgracing your 
family and your class, whilst I am, alas ! 

“ Your sorrowing 

“ Mother.” 

But the Countess’s letter was my opportunity ; and 
my heart swelled with emotion as I exclaimed, “ Then 
my worst fears have been realised. Our friendship 
and our innocence have marked us out. Ah ! Gertrude, 
Gertrude ! I ought to have known this before. Women 
who separate themselves from the crowd, as you have 
done, who are oblivious to stale traditions as you have 
been, whose talents and lofty aims are misunderstood 
by the ignorant and idle society surrounding them, 
have ever been the victims of malignity and abuse.” 

“ I can bear it,” she said, with proud contempt. 

“But I cannot,” I cried. “You have inspired me 
with feelings I dare not express. To remain longer in 
your society would be to wrong you more.” Here I 
rose to my feet. “ Gertrude ! ” I continued, “ I must 
leave you. Henceforth the object of my life will be to 
teach the world how it has maligned you. Farewell.” 

Seizing her hand, I imprinted a kiss on it, and rushed 
from the room before she could 'bid me stay. 

I had rehearsed the scene before in my mind, and, 
naturally, when it came on I was ready with my part. 
For tedious weeks I had waited for it, chained, like a 
galley-slave, to the “ Time Spirit.” Not a suggestion 
of love had escaped me. I had now launched the first 
arrow. Gertrude had an excellent memory. She 
would recall how she had “ inspired me with feelings 
I dared not express,” and how I had left her to avenge, 


MI!. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


153 


in some dim way, the wrong the world had done her 
in accusing her of indiscreet conduct with a man eight 
years her junior. 

The next morning brought no letter from Gertrude. 
This made me uneasy. Had I acted wisely? Sup- 
pose she took me at my word ? Fortunately, there was 
the “ Time Spirit ” to bring out. I wrote, requesting 
her to forward her articles to my chambers. “ I can- 
not,” I said, with quiet dignity, “ forget what is due to 
you, nor to the public.” 

That evening brought me an answer. My whole 
frame glowed as I read it, yet I have been accused of 
coldness and selfishness. Gertrude said, “You need 
not leave me. The difference between us, to which you 
refer, is a shadowy barrier. Why not work together 
to the end.” This touching and simple note brought 
tears into my eyes. Dear Lady Gertrude ! She fan- 
cied I had not asked her to be my wife because of our 
difference of rank ! She had not quite understood me. 
but what did that matter? Five minutes later I was 
in a hansom hurrying to Kensington. 

She was in the drawing-room alone. Lord Rigliton, 
I heard, had just departed. The servant announced 
me. She wore, I remember, a handsome dress of green 
velvet, and the diamonds sparkled in her short, straight 
hair. I felt the diamonds were for me, the toilet for 
me, that smile of welcome for me. For once she had 
abandoned her Spartan simplicity. The scene is too 
sacred for these pages. Looking back to it, it is-blurred 
with excitement. Gertrude was mine. We talked 
long and earnestly. Lord Righton, she told me, had 
declared that if she accepted me he would never speak 
to her again. “ If I had had any hesitation,” she said, 
“ that would have decided me.” 


154 


MS. BA IL E Y-MARTIN. 


When I left that night I hurried to the “ Scalp 
Hunters,” and informed the members sitting round 
the supper-table that I was about to marry “ Lady 
Gertrude Barton, only daughter of the Earl of Mar- 
lington .” 

A shout went up, “ Hurray ! ” cried a voice of an 
Irish journalist, “fancy a Scalp Hunter marrying a 
peer’s daughter. Let us dhrink her health, Martin, at- 
your expense, my bhoy ! ” 

I reflected. No, it was not a moment for economy. 

In the midst of the expectant silence, I said, “ Waiter, 
bring up half a dozen bottles of the champagne I usually 
drink.” 

I knew the story of my engagement would be in 
every little society paper in the kingdom, and deter- 
mined to send the announcement of it with the usual 
fee to the “ Morning Post ” in the morning. 

The champagne, poured on to whiskey, brandy, stout, 
lager beer, mounted into the heads of the “ Scalp Hun- 
ters” and unloosed their tongues. How all these good 
fellows rejoiced at my success. Such an event had not 
occurred in the annals of the Club. Soon they began 
to see a bright and glorious prospect before me — the 
House of Commons, beyond a doubt; the Woolsack, pos- 
sibly. They thought, however, that I should be none 
the worse for my glimpse of Bohemia. Every fresh 
member who entered the Club that night was informed 
of the event, and uttered our war-cry in my honour. 
Poor little Jimmie, already overcome by his potations, 
wept on to a Welsh rarebit. “Just fancy,” he said, 
“ being * sweated ’ by a chap who goes and marries a 
peer’s daughter ! Here am I, a man o’ genius too — . 
without a fiver to my name. It’s rough, I tell you, 
deuced rough ! ” 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


155 


Excited though I was, I despatched a letter that 
night to my mother at Surbiton, informing her of my 
engagement, and when I went to sleep the bed seemed 
to be the spoke of a wheel which revolved through a 
land of orange blossoms and laurels. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


There are, I should think, few more pleasurable feel- 
ings than to wake up in the morning to the conscious- 
ness that you are going to marry a peer’s daughter. I 
mean, of course, for a man in my position. Without 
being wealthy, judged from the vulgar standard of the 
millionaire, Lady Gertrude had a fortune. Her hus- 
band, at any rate, need not worry himself about making 
an income at the Bar. “ How about accepting a clerk- 
ship in the Oloptic under you, Robert ? ” I said glee- 
fully to myself, as I turned over and tried to go to 
sleep again. But there was that wretched “ Time 
Spirit ” to bring out. Jimmie did all the work. The 
“copy” my future wife failed to supply he picked up 
with his paste-pot and scissors. “ The people who buy 
the evening papers have no idea how important these 
editorial implements always are,” he once said to me. 
Dear Gertrude ! how readily she believed that an 
article on “ The Relation of Mind to Matter,” from an 
American scientific monthly, that Jimmie had “ scis- 
sored ” to fill up an empty column, was my own work. 
But this “ Time Spirit” must be stopped ; it was wasting 
too much money, our money, and was, besides, an intol- 
erable bore. How on earth should I ever get it through 
the press if Jimmie “got on the drink?” It was 
only by watching over him like a keeper on Friday 
(we published on Saturday) — that a catastrophe was 
averted. Gertrude would have never forgiven me if 
156 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


157 


some untoward accident, such as the helpless intoxica- 
tion of the actual editor, had prevented its appearance. 
It was impossible to snuff out the confounded “ Time 
Spirit ” before we were married. I feared to suggest 
the idea. It was her most delightful hobby. To see 
her articles, with a sort of literary edge added to them 
by Jimmie, was as fire and incense at the altar of her 
vanity. 

Naturally thrifty, as all people well versed in politi- 
cal and other economy should be, she never grudged 
herself that luxury. 

I knew I must hurry matters on and be married as 
soon as possible. There was no reason for delay, rather 
were there risks. 

After breakfast, I wrote a little affectionate note to 
Gertrude, and then hurried down to my family at Sur- 
biton, to enjoy my triumph. My letter of the previous 
evening would, I knew, have reached them by the 
second post and have created the greatest excitement 
in the domestic circle. As I walked from the station 
my heart swelled with a sentiment of wholesome satis- 
faction. I was returning as no prodigal, as no sup- 
pliant for a clerkship under my brother Robert, but as 
the affianced husband of Lady Gertrude Barton, only 
daughter of the Earl of Marlington. 

My father I found glowing with delight and excite- 
ment ; he wrung my hand. 

“Your news,” he said, “surprised and pleased me so 
much that I felt I ought to give myself a holiday.” 

“Well, sir,” I said, with a certain feeling of one who 
has been misjudged, “ I hope you perceive now I am 
not the c bad investment ’ you thought me the other 
day.” 

The poor old fellow quite winced. 


158 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


“My dear boy,” he said, quite tragically, “don’t refer 
to the past. We old fellows are not always so wise as 
we fancy ourselves — after all, your mother and I have 
but one wish, — the happiness of our children.” 

I wondered how many times I had heard him say 
this. It is an agreeable sight to see one’s parent eat a 
meek dish of humble-pie. Only a few days before I 
had seen this apologetic old gentleman perorating in 
my chambers, overflowing with virtuous indignation, 
like a heavy father in a melodrama. These minor satis- 
factions success procures one are delightfully soothing 
to a proud nature. 

“You may trust me, sir,” said I, “not to allude to 
this matter, since it is naturally unpleasant to you. 
Without boasting, I think I may say that I have gained 
myself a wife and you a daughter-in-law of whom our 
family must be proud. I need not dwell on the pros- 
pects an alliance with this ancient and noble family 
offer. But I have a favour to ask you. My expenses 
have naturally been heavy, and ” 

But he interrupted me. 

“ Short of money, eh ? Why didn’t you write ? ” 

I think he was glad of it. It placed us on a footing 
of equality. 

lie opened his drawer, we were in the library, and 
produced his cheque-book. “ This,” said he, “ will help 
you along for a week or two. When you marry you 
may rely on me to do what is right.” 

I could not help smiling. Suppose I had announced 
to him that I was about to marry Edith Lyall, how 
about the cheque-book then ? 

“ Thank you,” said I, graciously, pocketing his cheque 
for £200, “ this will do capitally.” 

At my filial approbation his face quite brightened 


ME. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


159 


up. It was, of course, a great comfort for him to look 
back to his own humble beginnings and forward to the 
brilliant career now opening to me. 

But my mother entered the room and embraced me 
excitedly. She had always foreseen this, of course. 
When she had taken me down to the Rev. Theophilus 
Bland, she had always predicted the Marlington family 
was destined to become associated with our own. She 
had quite forgotten my selfishness, and particularly 
plumed herself on the share she had had in moulding 
me. “ It was your mother, Percival, who insisted that 
you should enjoy every advantage education and train- 
ing could give, in spite of the expense.” 

How strange people are to be sure, and how inaccu- 
rate ! If my dear mamma had had her way with me I 
should have been a curate. 

But I willingly admitted her foresight, and gave 
myself over to be petted until the evening, when Bob 
returned from London. 

My brother congratulated me with the utmost 
warmth. 

“Thank you, Robert,” I said, “thank you. Lady 
Gertrude and myself will know how to make ourselves 
happy. Under the present circumstances it will not 
be necessary for me to take the place behind the trap- 
door that you were so kind as to offer me in the 
Oloptic ! ” 

“ Oh, never mind my chaff,” he said, growing un- 
pleasantly red, “and look here, about that loan, my 
cheque-book’s at your disposal whenever you like.” 

« I am in no need of funds now, Robert,” I said with 
meaning. “Your offer comes too late. But I will 
remember it all the same.” 

Then I recalled the well-known adage of the Latin 


160 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


Grammar, culled to exemplify a rule I do not remem- 
ber, from a Roman poet whose name I also forget, 
about prosperity and troops of friends, and adversity 
and their absence. But I quoted it to Bob. 

I slept that night at Surbiton and returned to town 
the next morning, bearing in my hand the “Morning 
Post,” containing the following amongst its Court 
news : 

“ A marriage has been arranged between Mr. Perci- 
val Bailey-Martin and Lady Gertrude Barton, only 
daughter of the Earl of Marlington.” 

I hastened to Kensington to see Gertrude, and found 
her coldly indignant at the unfeeling manner in which 
her family received the news of her proposed marriage 
with me. The Earl, who cordially disliked his cultured 
and talented daughter, wrote as follows : 

“I hear you are going to marry the son of a rich 
grocer. Of course it has no interest to me. Only don’t 
expect me to receive the fellow, or come to your wed- 
ding, which, if you follow my advice, will be as quiet as 
possible. Surely, a woman of your age doesn’t want 
orange-blossoms and the wedding-march.” 

This heartless epistle I did not see until long after, 
otherwise I should have resented it as it deserved. 
But Gertrude showed me her mother’s letter, which, 
although unfeeling and discourteous, was less abso- 
lutely brutal than that of the vicious old earl. 

“ Dear Gertrude,” — 

“ I cannot say that I approve of your marriage, but 
it is less reprehensible than a life in which you set so- 
ciety at defiance. Marriage has many cares, and will, I 
hope, cure you of some of the absurd notions which 
you mistake for philosophy. My health, I regret to 


MB. BAILEY -MARTIN. 


161 


say, will prevent me from being present at your wed- 
ding, which I trust will take place in a church. It will 
also prevent me from making the acquaintance of 
the young man to whom you are entrusting your 
future.” 

I sighed when I read this epistle, to which her moth- 
er’s signature was attached, but, like adversity, I felt it 
had its uses. Lady Gertrude’s views were entirely on 
the side of a civil wedding. Now, a marriage before 
the registrar would have annoyed the countess and not 
displeased the earl. Her parents’ letters had simply 
had the effect of making her desire to irritate them 
both as much as possible. Fortunately, ritualism was 
almost as odious to the countess, a bitter Calvinist 
of the ultra-Evangelical school, as infidelity. To be 
married amidst incense, banners, flowers, white-stoled 
warbling choristers, and all the other pomps and cere- 
monies that fervid ecclesiastical imagination and an 
elastic marriage-service can conceive, would annoy both 
her parents equally. Such a marriage would delight 
my own family, and give all our friends and enemies an 
opportunity of enjoying or sorrowing at my triumph. 
Great is the delight enjoyed by the modern civilised 
being in annoying his relations. To this feeling Ger- 
trude was willing to sacrifice the austerity of her secu- 
lar principles. I was, of course, too full of affectionate 
tact to trace this sentiment to its source, and attrib- 
uted it to a desire to gratify the old-fashioned notions 
of my own family. We fixed our marriage six weeks 
from that day. My time was fully occupied. There 
was the wretched “ Time Spirit ” to bring out every 
week. Its sale was dwindling slowly, but Gertrude 
was sanguine, and I felt it was wise to let the thing 


162 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


exist until I had ceased to be a bachelor. Moreover, the 
necessity of her weekly article kept her quiet and gave 
me more time to myself. I had taken care the society 
papers should paragraph our marriage. I meant the 
church should he full. 

Mysterious little “pars,” as the journalists call them, 
were circulated, referring to the probable magnificence 
of our approaching union. Then Lord Right on had to 
be won over. I wanted him to give his sister away. 
I wrote an affectionate letter, appealing to him on the 
strength of our long friendship to give us his fraternal 
countenance. But he did not answer my letter. I was 
not surprised. Then I interviewed him on the subject. 
He was as unpleasant as he could be. He knew, of 
course, why I was marrying Gertrude. “She ain’t 
young,” he said, coarsely, “ and never was pretty. But 
you’ll put up with that. When you go about together 
you look like her nephew.” I was deeply pained. For- 
tunately there was that mortgage. I referred to it 
gently, deprecating^, suggesting how desirous I had 
always been to help him, and how grieved I was to see 
he disregarded his sister’s wishes. 

“ I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said at last. “ If Ger- 
trude will write me a letter, saying that the beastly 
loan you and she are always holding over my head 
needn’t be paid till I come into the title, I’ll do the 
c’rect thing at your wedding. It will be a pull, but I’ll 
do it.” This bargain was concluded. But how Ger- 
trude and I despised him for his heartless and sordid 
conduct ! 

At last the eventful day arrived. Lady Gertrude 
had stayed with us at Surbiton, and for my sake — and 
every day I was becoming more necessary to her — put 
up with my relations. 


31 R. BAILEY -31 A R TIN. 


163 


Besides, I explained to her that her graciousness to 
them would add to our income. To the silent wrath 
of Robert, my father made over to me £25,000 as my 
share in his property. 

I felt, however, if we managed him we might have 
more some day. It assumed the form of a wedding- 
gift. “ The bridegroom’s father gave the happy couple 
a cheque for £25,000 as a wedding-gift.” The magni- 
ficence of this present was much commented on at the 
time. 

I cannot describe the wedding. The ladies flocked 
up from Surbiton to see it. There wa$ a smell of in- 
cense and flowers. Four distant relatives of Gertrude’s, 
charming pink and white cousins, acted as bride’s- 
maids, and two little lads dressed as pages bore the 
long train of the bride. Bridal attire did not, I admit, 
suit dear Gertrude, it is becoming to few ; but with a 
little rouge, dexterously applied, she carried it off, and 
I know the Surbiton ladies thought her very aristo- 
cratic. Lord Rigliton looked very yellow and sulky 
throughout the imposing ceremony. Murgatroyd of 
the Guards — one of the smartest men about town — 
was my best man. The place belonged to Robert, but 
when I explained to him how impossible it was, under 
the circumstances, for him to act for me, the poor fellow 
really took it very nicely. 

There was a grand reception at Lady Gertrude’s, de- 
scribed in all the fashionable society papers, by a great 
friend of mine, a “ Scalp Hunter ” invited for the pur- 
pose. He assured the world, in an eloquent account 
drawn up one or two days before the event, that “ the 
Earl and Countess of Marlington were prevented from 
attending the wedding, owing to a violent attack of 
influenza which had prostrated them both.” 


164 


MR. BAILE Y-MA E TIN. 


Their gifts were hinted mysteriously to represent 
two cheques of almost fabulous value. My wife and I 
had reason to know the two wicked old people were 
highly exasperated. The day was one of meteoric bril- 
liance. 

When at last we left for Paris, I felt myself riding 
on the crest of a magnificent wave of success. Talk 
of love! Well — Gertrude was warmly attached to me. 
Besides, a reasonable man can do without that. Had 
I not conquered? Was I not about to embark on 
a new sea in a new ship and with an untried but 
promising crew? 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Were I given to moralising I should enjoy at this 
point in my autobiography an opportunity not to be 
wasted. I had made a brilliant match, and all the 
world was before me. I can even now recall my 
thoughts as the express hurried us to Dover. I fancy 
I still see the guard, with that fatuous air of obse- 
quious patronage his kind always display towards the 
newly-married, locking us in our carriage with the as- 
surance no other passenger should be admitted. Why 
on earth he should have suspected us I cannot tell. 
Gertrude did not look like a bride. She commenced 
her married life with a splitting headache, and leant 
back in her seat with her eyes closed, comforting her- 
self with smelling-salts, which she always carried, and 
an occasional effort to read her own article in the last 
number of the “ Time Spirit.” Strange solace for a 
bride ! Perceiving from the dark lines gathering be- 
neath her eyes that conversation would only increase 
her nervous exhaustion, I sat at the further end of 
the carriage and looked out of the window. The clang- 
ing and uproar of the train, which my wife informed 
me represented to her mind pulsations of pain in her 
aching brow, rang in my ears like the roar of a tri- 
umphant voice. Had I not made all my runs off my 
own hat? The little pale person in the other corner, 
Lady Gertrude Bailey-Martin, the captive of my how 
and spear, belonged to a social caste to which all that is 
best and most respectable in the great English middle- 

165 


166 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


class pays perpetual homage. She had just sworn to 
love, honour, and obey me. I have never pretended 
that my marriage was an ideal one. Out of three-vol- 
ume novels I don’t believe they exist. A wife with a 
headache, smelling-salts, and a dull newspaper article 
of her own composition as a comfort does not repre- 
sent the highest form of bliss at the commencement 
of a honeymoon. “ But, never mind,” said the consol- 
atory voice heard above the grinding and clatter of 
the wheels — “ never mind, she is Lady Gertrude Bailey- 
Martin.” And what golden dreams to my youth and 
inexperience did not her rank breed in my brain ! 

I continued to build castles in the air, in which I 
seemed to move from one success to another, now r ad- 
dressing an imaginary speech to applauding constitu- 
ents, now serving my country as one of Her Majesty’s 
ministers, surrounded by shadowy throngs of admiring 
friends, and always on a platform above them. 

But the grinding of the air-brake warned me we 
were entering the terminus. 

“ I hope, Gertrude,” I said, “ your headache is better.” 

“ It is worse,” she said — a little crossly — “ I think, 
travelling always makes me ill. I want a cup of 
tea.” 

“ You will be all right to-morrow r ,” I said, consolingly, 
as I handed her on to the platform. 

I can still remember the pleasure with which I in- 
scribed our names, “ Mr. Percival and Lady Gertrude 
Bailey-Martin,” in the visitors’ book at the hotel. 

That evening Gertrude’s maid informed me her 
mistress was too unwell to come down to dinner, so I 
dined alone, under the circumstances with consider- 
able cheerfulness. 

On the following day w T e started for Paris. The 


M 11. 11 . 1 ILE Y-MA n TIN. 


167 


crossing was rough, ancl my wife suffered. I handed 
her over to the care of her maid, a tough little Scotch- 
woman. The sea and the wind always increased my 
spirits and appetite. 

“ If I ever do any yachting,” said I, as she was going 
to join the throng of suffering women below, “ it must 
be alone.” 

“ My lady will take good care of that, sir,” said the 
maid. 

The characters of all married couples. are revealed to 
each other gradually, and by a hundred and one little 
incidents. The process is always more or less pain- 
ful. No woman is ever a heroine of romance to her 
husband, at least such is my experience. I am aware 
some men pretend to entertain a poetic attachment to 
their wives after ten years of wedlock, but I regret I 
cannot believe in the sincerity of the sentiment. Two 
hours in a dancing packet-boat is enough to reduce 
ninety-five out of a hundred honeymoons to bathos. 
The gray waves, splashing their foaming tops off on the 
deck, the vertiguous movements of sea and sky, the 
great draughts of damp sea- wind brought the blood in 
my face, reaching I know not what rough sea-instinct 
within me. Surely some ancestor of the Bailey-Martins 
must have been a Sea King. I remember, when I once 
made this remark to Florence, she replied, “ More prob- 
ably a purser.” The tossing, salt, windy sea exhilarates 
me and the ozone mixes congenially with my blood. 
With poor Gertrude it was different. The very smell 
of a steamer appals her. For me, cold roast beef and 
bottled stout ; for her, ninety minutes’ torture and a 
deranged stomach for two days ! Truly, a healthy wife 
is a blessing to her husband. Strange, I could see the 
pleasure the brief crossing gave me irritated her. What 


168 


MU. B A IL E Y-MA li TIN. 


was it she expected me to do or say that I omitted ? 
Perhaps she thought I was wanting in sympathy. But 
this was absurd. Her maid must have understood her 
constitution far better than I. When a woman is sick, 
a man is in the way. Besides, there is nothing more 
unpleasant than to see others suffer — especially between 
Dover and Calais. 

But we arrived in Paris at last. 

My wife did not recover from her journey for two 
days. I spent the time in re-visiting my old haunts. 
She was obliged to take her meals upstairs, consisting 
of bouillon , or the French equivalent for beef-tea. 
Clarkson, her maid, assured me her mistress required 
rest. I let her have it, and passed my time on the 
boulevards, dining and lunching at most expensive 
restaurants, where the cooking was more novel and far 
more to my taste than at the hotel. Famous restau- 
rants I had feared to dine at when a pupil at Passy 
capitulated now before my well-filled purse. 

On the third day, however, Gertrude was well enough 
to be my companion again. It was, moreover, the date 
for the appearance of the “ Time Spirit.” Secretly 
I had determined it should expire when I married. 
Gertrude believed the next number was in the hands 
of the printer, under the direction of our immaculate 
sub-editor, but I knew it was in the hands of the exe- 
cutioner. Already she was projecting the next issue. 
Poor Gertrude ! As I anticipated, or perhaps suggested, 
Jemmie got drunk. Instead of the copy of the journal 
she was expecting, there came a letter from the printers, 
enclosing a long bill, and informing me that as “ Mr. 
James Blake was unable to provide the copy the paper 
could not appear.” 

I passed the letter across the table to Gertrude. 


MR . BA ILE Y-MA R TIN. 


1G9 


“ If yon want a thing done,” said I sadly, “ you must 
do it yourself, and I trusted Jemmie Blake so im- 
plicitly.” 

“ You mean,” she said, with a bitterness that pained 
me, “if I want a thing done I must do it myself. Let 
us he accurate.” 

I was too surprised to retort. The decease of our 
stupid little twaddling paper was a serious shock to 
my wife. 

“ You had no right,” she added, “ to leave it in in- 
competent hands.” 

“ Incompetent ! ” cried I ; “ there is not an abler man 
in London than Blake, when he is sober.” 

“ If you knew he was a drunkard, why did you 
engage him ? ” 

“ Because I believed his promise.” 

“ Then you are a ■•” I believe she intended to say 

fool, hut she checked herself, adding, “ criminally care- 
less and heedless of my wishes.” 

The imperious ring in her voice annoyed me. It 
foreboded a conflict of wills. I perceived she must be 
propitiated. Diplomacy, not war, was needed. 

“ Now, Gertrude,” said I gently, “ do not say unkind 
things. They pain me. I am not used to them. My 
disappointment is as great as your own ; why increase 
it? Let us make the best of it. The ‘ Time Spirit ’ was 
not making its way. Last week we sold only 150 copies. 
To elevate the masses is an expensive undertaking, 
especially when they won’t buy the paper. Even if the 
sub-editor had not played us false, the paper must have 
finally died for want of readers. No, no, Gertrude ! 
there are bigger successes for you than journalism 
can give. You might become a power in politics if we 
worked together. I will get into the House; your 


170 


MR. BAILEY-MA R TIN. 


drawing-room shall be the political salon of the future.” 
But I think you can guess what arguments I used. At 
last I flattered her into a state of comparative com- 
placency. 

“ If politics do not suffice for your mental activity,” 
I said, “ write a book upon ‘conduct,’ instead of scat- 
tering your teachings in fragments on the world in a 
newspaper nobody reads.” 

The extinction of the “ Time Spirit,” however, weighed 
upon her mind for some time. If she had lost a baby 
she could have hardly been more depressed. Whether 
she believed in the sincerity of my regret I have never 
known. 

From Paris we went to Geneva, thence to Chamounix. 
At the hotel we made the acquaintance of two Ameri- 
cans, Mr. and Mrs. Silas A. Todd. The former, a some- 
what withered and elderly, but wealthy, citizen from 
Connecticut; the latter (his six months’ bride) from 
Boston. 

He was fifty, she twenty and pretty. She was proud 
of her good looks, prouder still of her “ culture.” It 
was this that brought her into contact with my wife. 
I fancy Mrs. Silas A. Todd — the Todds laid great stress 
on the “ A. ” — was not enjoying her wedding-trip so 
much as she anticipated. She was a person of refresh- 
ing frankness, and confessed to me she looked upon the 
uninteresting person she had married somewhat in 
the same manner as we may suppose the convict 
regards the shot tied to his leg. 

“The next time I come to Europe,” she said, “I 
shall come without Mr. Silas A. Todd.” 

The lady prided herself especially on the possession 
of that peculiarly American quality of “ brightness,” 
a quality that appears to be derived in equal parts from 


MR. IiA IL E Y-MA R TIN. 


171 


mental quickness, superficial knowledge, and physical 
restlessness. It must, I think, be exceedingly fatiguing 
to possess it. 

I think Lady Gertrude and myself were a Godsend 
to Mrs. Silas, who must have been anxious to throw her 
brightness on objects endowed with a greater capacity 
of reflecting it than her admiring spouse. I remember 
she had reduced him into so pronounced a state of 
geographical bewilderment by the wind of her speed, 
that he could not remember even the names of places 
they had visited without recourse to his guide-book. 

They had arrived at the hotel at Chamouriix about 
two hours before ourselves. The same roof had not 
shielded us a single day from the dazzling July sun 
before Mrs. Todd had found out all about us, and had 
introduced herself to my wife. They met in the Hall. 
With an air of assurance which in an Englishwoman 
would have been impertinent, but which the world 
expects from an American when she is young, she 
insisted on shaking hands with my wife. 

“ I heard of you in Boston, Lady Bailey-Martin,” she 
said, “before you were married. Your articles in the 
4 Time Spirit 1 have made me look on you as a friend. 
I am Mrs. Silas A. Todd, and I just fall down and 
worship talent like yours — we are made like that in 
America. That is Silas — the grey old gentleman in the 
straw hat trying to understand the booking-clerk’s 
English. Now, introduce me to Mr. Bailey-Martin. 1 
read all about your high-toned marriage in the papers. ” 

You have only to admire Gertrude for her literary 
talents to gain her confidence. She introduced me at 
once, and informed me afterwards she considered Mrs. 
Todd’s charm of manner was only equalled by her intel- 
lectual insight into the movements of the modern mind. 


172 


Mil. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


“ Now an Englishwoman,” she said, “ would have 
only been aware of my existence as the daughter of the 
Earl of Marlington, but this American girl knows me 
because I was editor of the poor defunct ‘ Time Spirit.’ ” 
Mr. Silas A. Todd, who did not possess his wife’s ac- 
quaintance with Debrett, much to my amusement, in- 
sisted on addressing me as Lord Bailey-Martin. We 
were conversing at the time apart from the ladies. 

“ Although my wife is an earl’s daughter,” said I, 
with modest simplicity, “ I am only a commoner, Mr. 
Todd.” 

“What, ain’t you a lord?” said he, a little disap- 
pointed. “ I was raised in Connecticut, and guess I’ve 
never spoken to a lord. Wall ! I dare say you’re none 
the worse for that, sir. May I ask what’s your class ? ” 
Then I perceived Mr. Todd had peculiar views of his 
own concerning social distinctions in England, which I 
fancy he believed was regulated in some manner in- 
comprehensible to him by the railway companies, for 
when I informed him that, although untitled, I was an 
Oxford man, and naturally moved in the same society 
as my wife, he “ guessed I travelled first class when 
aboard the train,” a conjecture in which I acquiesced. 

Mr. Silas A. Todd, in fact, had many amusing oddi- 
ties, although he was as destitute of taste for art and 
nature as my brother Robert. Like many Americans, 
he had the faculty of admiring liis wife in a purely im- 
personal manner, as though she belonged as much to 
the world at large as to himself. 

Lady Gertrude and her new acquaintance soon be- 
came intimate. Mrs. Todd — who was known at home 
as Mimi Todd — either admired my wife’s talent to 
excess or desired the support of her social influence in 
London, where she proposed to stay in the following sea- 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


173 


son. We projected excursions with the Todds, shared 
a guide between us, picnicked amongst the pine- woods 
together. Mrs. Todd’s vivacity and freedom from con- 
ventionality pleased my wife, who adopted towards her 
the air of a philosopher to a disciple. 

The first day or two Gertrude spent in explaining 
her system of philosophy, of which Mimi Todd picked 
up the jargon with surprising speed. Silas and my- 
self did not interfere much in these colloquies. He 
was impressed by my wife’s wisdom, but still more 
impressed by his own wife’s intelligence. 

“ Sir,” he would exclaim, gravely, “ ain’t she bright ! 
Boston don’t hold a brighter. I guess she’ll soon know 
all your good lady can teach. I ain’t a college gradu- 
ate myself, but I can admire intellect when I see it.” 

But to Mimi Todd’s character there was another 
side besides the philosophic one. Although, like Sol- 
omon, she believed “ wisdom was the principal ” thing, 
she was not fashioned too ethereally for human nature’s 
daily food. Her dresses were as dainty and coquettish 
as a Paris dressmaker could devise. Dark hair, clear 
bright eyes, and the reddest of red lips were hers. 
Sometimes when she philosophised you would think 
her half a saint, but the white satin of her skin shone 
through her diaphanous dresses. Then you perceived 
she was a woman to whom all the pleasant vanities of 
the world were dear. It was plain Silas’s simple ad- 
miration did not quite satisfy the requirements of that 
vanity that is the necessary consequence of physical 
beauty. How could this kindly, thin-lipped, dyspeptic 
American, who had passed his life in a great dry-goods 
store in his native city, and grown rich as well as pre- 
maturely old, be expected to satisfy all the demands 
the mysterious entity we call a woman’s heart de- 


174 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


mands? Silas could cover liis wife with diamonds, 
array her in Worth’s loveliest “costooms,” as he called 
them, in the frank accents of his native tongue. This, 
of course was, something — indeed, it was very much — 
hut to her pleasure-loving nature it was not all 
sufficient. It may be pretty Mimi Todd loved phil- 
osophy well, but I am sure she loved still better some- 
thing the world calls pleasure and the catechism of 
our Church forbids. At one side of her character — the 
philosophic side — she met my wife, at the other she 
met me. It was clever to face each way at once, like a 
two-faced deity, and pleased us both. 


CHAPTER XX. 


One clay when we had arranged a picnic in the pine- 
woocls with the Todds, my wife succumbed to a head- 
ache. The heat was great. The blue, unclouded 
weather that enwrapped the valley was delightful and 
languorous, but Lady Gertrude could not always face 
it, and on the day in question she lay in her darkened 
room, Clarkson bathing her head with eau de cologne. 
One shaft of light evaded the sun-blind and pierced the 
gloom. I can see that room still with the motes danc- 
ing in the bright streak, and hear in fancy yet the 
singing of the myriads of crickets in the sun-parched 
fields without. 

“ Cannot you join us, Gertrude ? ” I asked. 

“ I cannot,” she said, “ lift my head.” 

“ Shall I stay with you, and let the Todds do their 
picnicking alone ? ” 

“ What do you think ? ” she asked — a little wistfully 
I thought. 

“ Of course,” I said, “ I would prefer to stay with 
you, but I invited these people to join us principally 
on your account. The man with the mules is here, 
and the Todds waiting to start. Rut I will do what 
you wish.” 

« Then go,” said she, closing her eyes and succumb- 
ing to the lassitude that hemmed her in. 

I do not think Mrs. Todd was entirely sorry my wife 
could not accompany us (although voluble in her ex- 
pressions of regret and commiseration) ; perhaps she 

175 


176 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


had had enough for the present of “ philosophy’s sweet 
milk.” 

“ If your wife can’t come,” said she, “ I sha’n’t bring 
Silas.” 

“ That,” said I, “ would be only fair.” 

Silas was sucking contemptuously at a Swiss cigar, 
standing in the veranda of the hotel, which he called 
the piazza. The hot weather seemed to have parched 
him, for the skin of his face looked tighter and more 
arid than ever. 

“ Silas,” said his wife, “ you have letters to answer.” 

“ I guess so,” said he. 

“ Then answer your mail to-day. Lady Gertrude is 
sick, and you must stay here and look round till she 
comes down. Mr. Bailey-Martin and I will picnic 
alone.” 

“Well, don’t get right atop of Mount Blank.” 

Silas Todd made no concessions to native pronun- 
ciation. 

“ I would not go up without you, Silas,” said his wife, 
“ for all the diamonds in Tiffany’s store. But I know 
you don’t want to sit on the melted snow, unless you’re 
obliged. So you may consider yourself off duty. You 
are not eupeptic enough to eat cold fowl on the side of 
a mountain. Your last bottle of Duffy’s Pepsine is fin- 
ished. You ought to be very grateful to Mr. Bailey- 
Martin for taking me off your hands.” 

After having been swept across the Continent in his 
wife’s train, an excursionless day was a luxury for 
Silas Todd. 

“ I thank you, sir,” he said, “ for your attention to 
Mrs. Todd, and I’ll take a rest.” 

The harmless incident I am describing is, I know, 
out of harmony with the sentimental idea usually 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


177 


associated with a honeymoon. But is the popular 
notion of it quite accurate? Probably, if the joys of 
honeymoons admitted of exact arithmetical statement, 
it would be found that not even one per cent, of them 
ever reached any extraordinary standard of bliss. I 
am sure Gertrude had enjoyed hers as much as most 
people, and I believe my own satisfaction had surpassed 
the average. We cannot always keep our sentiments 
at high pressure, and there are unfortunately few peo- 
ple like myself, willing to tell the truth about these 
things. If there were, how many fond delusions re- 
specting love and marriage would have been corrected ! 
How many young people of both sexes might have 
been spared disappointment. Let us uproot the fool- 
ish sentiment that leads the inexperienced to expect 
from matrimony any other advantages than the imme- 
diate material ones every well-regulated match must 
bring. 

Some such thoughts as these naturally passed 
through my mind that torrid morning as I rode (be- 
hind the luncheon-basket) on an ill-groomed Chamounix 
mule up the straight dusty road towards the steep 
pine- woods and mountain pastures. 

I did not understand the pretty American all at 
'once. America is, I am told, especially proud of her 
psychological novelists. Some critics seem to think 
them the result of a national complacency that can only 
exist in extreme youth. Whether they are the natural 
outcome of a self-analysing people, or, reversing the 
order of incidents, whether the self-analysing heroes and 
heroines be the unconscious progenitors of the psycho- 
logical young ladies and gentlemen of actual American 
existence, I will not pretend to decide. But since 
critics tell us Lord Byron’s poems produced that pecu- 

12 


178 


MR. BAILEY-MAIi TIN. 


liar morbid mental condition known as “ Byronism,” 
it is not impossible the “psychology,” of the New Eng- 
land school of writers should have set a large number 
of clever American women wondering at the com- 
plexity of their own mental machinery. 

We turned away from the dusty road and followed 
a narrow path leading upwards. Gradually the air 
grew cooler, the pine trees more fragrant. Below us 
we could see the valley of Chamounix. Far above in 
the thin mountain air the cow-bells tinkled. W e rode 
in single file, Mimi Todd leading the way. The light 
that fell on her through the green boughs of the trees 
made her seem more beautiful than perhaps she really 
was. Gleaming from above me in her white dress 
through the shadows of the boughs as the winding 
path separated us, she had lost for the moment that 
air of artificiality delicate and scrupulously dressed 
women too often possess. Every twist to a curl, every 
adjustment of a ribbon or rose, has an object. Pretty 
Mrs. Mimi Todd had been “manicured,” “pedicured,” 
and “massaged” to perfection. No single iota in her 
physical attractiveness had missed cultivation. Pretty 
American women fight against wrinkles with more 
energy than most of us combat — what shall I say — sin ? 
Beauty after all consists of two sorts : there is the raw 
material and the manufactured article. Men generally 
say they prefer the raw material, but their conduct 
somewhat belies them. Women, I believe, like the 
manufactured article best, and too often underrate the 
“ raw material ” as lacking in style. But after all the 
primitive instincts in men are never quite silent. 
They wake in the hot sun and stir at the breath of 
spring. 

This idea was dimly exercising my brain when we 


ME. BAILS Y-MA R TIN. 


179 


reached our destination — a mountain meadow some- 
where near the “ Pierre Pointu .” We dismounted and 
sat upon the grass. 

“ How we revert to nature,” said I, “ on days like 
these” 

“ The hot sun draws out our atavisms,” she answered. 
“ I guess you are a Darwinian, like your wife.” 

We opened the lunch basket and uncorked the 
champagne, whilst the guide sat down at a respectful 
distance, contemplating us. 

Mimi, who had been “raised,” as her husband would 
have said, amongst New England Teetotallers rarely 
drank champagne. It made her bright eyes sparkle, 
and increased her more than American candour. 

“ I am glad to see you alone, Mr. Bailey-Martin ; 
you interest me.” 

“ Shall I,” I suggested, “ send on the man with the 
mules ? ” 

“ I guess he can’t understand English.” 

“ To be sure not. I forgot. But how do I interest 
you ? ” 

“ I don’t understand you — yet. I have taken Lady 
Gertrude’s measure. She is not without complication, 
but you are not like any American ” (she said Amer- 
ican with a delicate little twirl of the r that escapes all 
phonetic representation I am acquainted with) “ I have 
met. You are a new type. New types interest me.” 

“ Do you like me ? ” I asked looking into her spark- 
ling eyes avec intention , as the French say. 

“No, I cannot admit that. You are well ‘ set up,’ 
as you say in England, dress well, and are pleasant to 
look at. You interest me most because I can’t under- 
stand you. Your motives are obscure, your thoughts 
incomprehensible.” 


180 


ME. BAILEY-MAE TIN. 


When she said she did not like me I did not believe 
her. 

44 But,” said I, 44 1 am a very open book to read. 
What don’t you understand ? ” 

“First of all, I cannot understand how you and 
Lady Gertrude came to be married. You are not well 
matched physically or mentally. That sounds imper- 
tinent, I know. You Englishmen are so reticent. Reti- 
cence is one of your forms of hypocrisy. Let us, this 
one hot afternoon, live in a Palace of Truth. It will be 
a good tonic for you.” 

44 In a Palace of Truth ! ” I exclaimed, smiling ; 44 1 have 
lived in one all my life.” 

44 Then you have lived alone in it. No one else has 
been admitted.” 

44 You shall be admitted to-day. Mrs. Silas A. Todd, 
otherwise Mimi, you are a very beautiful woman.” 

44 That is a somewhat clumsy statement of what is 
only partly true. Mr. Bailey-Martin, I wish to know 
how it is you and Lady Gertrude married ? I am a 
psychologist. Science, not curiosity, speaks.” 

44 Because we wished it. Like yourself, I worship 
talent. I was editor of the 4 Time Spirit.’ ” 

44 Now defunct, I guess. Its death followed close on 
your wedding.” 

44 Yes, for so it seemed good to the Fates. Well, the 
paper brought us together. You can guess the rest, it 
has been a union of souls.” 

44 Your Palace of Truth,” she answered, 44 is a roof- 
less structure.” 

44 Let me test your own building,” said I. 44 You and 
your husband seem to a superficial observer still more 
physically and mentally uncongenial than we are. In 


MB. BAILEY-MABTIN. 181 

fact he is the sort of excuse French novelists find for 
pretty wives.” 

Mimi winced, coloured slightly, then smiled. 

“You think I need consolation. I will tell Silas. 
He would like to know. He has been too busy all 
his life for any savage instinct to survive in his nat- 
ure.” 

“ If he suffered from the atavisms we spoke of just 
now, he would cudgel you to death.” 

“ Yes, I guess so.” 

“ You mean he is not jealous ? ” 

“ Why should he he ? Is Lady Gertrude jealous ? ” 

“My wife is a philosopher. Besides, she has no 
cause.” 

“ You mean you have had no time to give her one. 
Come, Mr. Bailey-Martin, let us sweep away the cob- 
webs.” 

Well, we swept them away. Indeed it was a strange 
talk we two had in that high mountain meadow, whilst 
the guide munched the lunch we had left. I confess 
Mimi made me forget I was on my honeymoon, as I 
expect she intended. Gradually we shifted our ground 
to a sort of platonic plane, where we could talk of things 
usually left untouched in conversation between young 
men and women. It was for me a piquant experience. 
But to discuss life and the relation of the sexes from the 
stand-point of evolution and materialism, even with the 
utmost reticence of phrase, has its dangers. 

There was something at once provocative and repel- 
lant in Mimi’s attitude towards me, peculiarly tantaliz- 
ing, that made the presence of the sunburnt guide irk- 
some. Before we rose to return, whilst the man 
was seeing to his mules, I confess I kissed Mimi’s soft 
cheek just below the ear. No, there was not an explo- 


182 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


sion. Mimi was not a Lucrece from Boston. I will 
swear she weighed that ghost of a kiss hi the balance 
of her psychological scale. 

“Now,” she said, triumphantly, “I know why yon 
married Lady Gertrude. I half pity her, too, in spite of 
that 4 union of souls ’ the ‘ Time Spirit ’ cemented. But 
no more experiments : it is time to go hack.” 

“ I am only a very human man,” said I, helping her 
to mount her mule, “ and no philosopher like Gertrude 
and you.” 

Just before reaching Chamounix we met Mr. Todd 
and my wife. They were walking arm-in-arm, he bend- 
ing over her figure with a kindly expression in his thin 
face shrouded by his white panama hat. 

“ My lady’s headache being better, sir,” said he, “ I 
indooced her to come with me to meet you and Mimi. 
A pleasant excursion ? ” 

“ I guess we’ve had just a lovely time in the woods,” 
said Mimi ; “ and if Lady Gertrude had been there it 
would have been perfect.” 


CHAPTER XXL 


I was fated that evening to obtain an accidental 
glimpse into my wife’s private thoughts before dinner. 
Going up to our private room I found her keys lying 
beside a locked diary. Scarcely thinking what I 
was doing, I fitted in the smallest, and opened the 
book. 

It was filled with a strange jumble of philosophic 
and romantic musings. Often my own name appeared 
in the pages with tender allusions. Discontented and 
lonely before her marriage, she anticipated happiness 
from it, which I regret to say she did not realize. Turn- 
ing quickly to the pages following it I read : 

“ More confessions of a troubled spirit. He let the 
‘Time Spirit’ die. He never knows when I am ill. 
What comfort in the 4 O, you’ll be all right ’ — his ha- 
bitual phrase ? He is absorbed in his own pleasures. 
Does a woman love like that ? Yet I desire to have him 
about me. As I write these lines he is up in the pine 
wood with the Americans. Three weeks of marriage 
to-day! Thus we seek happiness but never find it. 
Joy only exists in the imagination. Who knows ? I 
may be loved as much as other women. I ask too 
much.” 

There was little philosophy here. The lines might 
have been written by the merest schoolgirl. For once 

183 


184 


MB. BAILEY-MAR TIM. 


I beheld, as it were, my wife’s mind in undress. I 
always knew she was one of those women who would 
never be happy. More than half our happiness is of 
entirely physical origin, and its centre situated in the 
stomach. But poor Gertrude was not the first woman 
who has attributed to her husband’s selfishness what 
was in reality the result of her own dyspepsia. The 
devil is in it ! When my wife is ill her discontented 
voice always grates on my nerves. Now if, like 
Gertrude, I had entrusted my thoughts to the ruled 
lines of a diary, you would have read, “I wish to 
goodness my wife would not whine ! ” 

“ Thrift, thrift, Horatio,” is an excellent quality in a 
housewife, but one does not care to see it displayed in 
excess by a lady of noble birth. 

My wife possessed another clasped and locked book, 
the companion volume to the diary, over which I had 
seen her poring with a pained absorption on her face. 
At first I did not know the object of this precious vol- 
ume. You would never guess ! It contained elaborate 
statistics of our expenditure — at least of as much of it as 
I allowed her to see. By consulting it she could tell you 
the average price of “ bourgeois ” all over Switzerland, 
and what was the lowest fee you could offer a chamber- 
maid or a concierge without inflicting an insult on the 
recipient. 

After dinner that evening, for the first time she dis- 
cussed the expenses of our honeymoon in a way that 
would have made a romantic young man’s blood run 
cold. 

“ Had you an idea,” she said, “ travelling was so ex- 
pensive ? ” 

I had not asked her to pay, but at her request handed 
over to her keeping the various hotel bills, which she 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 185 

docketed and tabulated with the dexterity of a stat- 
istician. 

“ Not the slightest,” I said, “ sixty pounds per- 
haps.” 

“ Two thousand and forty-five francs fifty centimes, 
exclusive of travelling expenses. Our bill for cham- 
pagne amounts to 252 francs. Dr. Johnson has de- 
scribed music as the most expensive form of noise. 
Travelling is, undoubtedly, the most costly form of 
fatigue.” 

Gertrude used to joke in this ponderous manner. 

“You’ll get used to the fatigue. Why not get used 
to the expense too ? ” 

“ Of course I know, Percival, when people are first 
married they are naturally a little lavish. But do you 
not think we have been married long enough for a 
little reasonable economy. Extravagance is very un- 
civilized.” 

“ And parsimony,” I retorted, “ is very barbarous.” 

People have odd notions about extravagance and 
economy. Gertrude was willing to squander hundreds 
on the idiotic “ Time Spirit,” but a few francs on cham- 
pagne made her wince. It is true she could only drink 
one small glass, whilst she was able to absorb whole 
columns of the “ Time Spirit ” without any ill effect. 

“ Perhaps,” I said, “ you would like to stay at a Pen- 
sion. There are places where they take you in at five 
francs a day on the tout compris scale.” 

“ I think the arrangement a reasonable one,” she 
replied, under the impression I was in earnest. 

Fancy an earl’s daughter wishing to stay at a five- 
francs-a-day boarding-house ! Do not tell me marriage 
has no surprises after that. 

Now I never consider anything extravagant so long 


186 


JUT?. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


as it gives me pleasure. But I hate to see money 
wasted over silly whims. There was the difference 
between us. But I did not endeavour to argue with 
her then. 

You will perhaps think from my candour in criti- 
cising my wife’s character, that I was disappointed in 
my marriage before the honeymoon was over. But 
this is not quite the case. When we have striven 
ardently to win anything and have obtained it, the 
object does not generally possess all the value in our 
eyes that we originally attributed to it. The dignity 
of my wife’s position threw lustre on mine. Directly 
English tourists discovered who we were, they paid 
us that subtle homage the middle class, perhaps uncon- 
sciously, render to rank. This was gratifying. But 
as I grew used to it the edge was taken off the charm, 
although, having once received it, I could not have dis- 
pensed with it without intense social discomfort. But 
though necessary it ceased to add appreciably to my 
joy in living. The worth of some possessions can only 
be measured by the desire to which their absence 
would give activity. This soon became the case with 
me after my marriage. But why should I endeavour 
to excuse myself because my sentiments towards Ger- 
trude were entirely within the limits of reason ? A 
man who falls down and adores his wife as a paragon 
of all the virtues, and because he has ceased to be a 
bachelor, imagines other women have no longer any 
interest for him, is a human type, for which I, for one, 
feel an aversion. Can such a man be considered per- 
fectly rational ? Marriages of this sort cannot be per- 
fectly happy, because they are not based on common 
sense. The brief glimpse I have given of my wife’s 
diary, shows you even she was a little disillusioned, 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


187 


and yon know how much she cared for me. No, no, 
the truth is always best. Is it not wiser to recognise 
it, than to dwell in a paradise of fools, objects of ridi- 
cule for all reasonable people. It makes me sick to 
see a man admiring a commonplace woman as a sort 
of divinity, who has come down from high Olympus 
for his sake. The fatuous adoration of a confiding 
wife for her husband, is almost equally painful to me. 
It makes me sad. I know what human nature is, I see 
what in their particular case they believe it to be. 
What a gulf between fact and fancy have we here ! In 
a very highly civilised community no honest man will 
permit a woman to worship him in this credulous 
fashion. It is immoral. You will remember the can- 
dour of my conduct to Edith Lyall. You have seen my 
absolute frankness to my wife — after we were married. 
Could Mimi Todd have possibly misunderstood me ? 
Ah, no ; let us be honest. Men and women are as 
nature moulded them. Let them acquiesce in her 
laws and leave all the posing to the heroes and hero- 
ines of novels written for school- girls. 

We need excitement and must find it where we can. 
A man does not generally obtain enough of it in the 
bosom of his own family. The desire of it I take to 
be a sign of vitality. 

Some such reflections as these passed through my 
mind as I sat smoking on the balcony of our room. 

In the summer night outside, the moon was gilding 
the jagged aiguilles of the Mount Blanc range ; behind 
me, under the shadow of the lamp, my wife was busy 
with her accounts. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


How strange are the ways of women ! I naturally 
endeavoured to renew the innocent flirtation I had com- 
menced with Mrs. Todd, but I found she could change 
her moods as easily as her raiment. The day following 
our picnic she unhesitatingly rejected the tepid atmos- 
phere of platonic sympathy that had so naturally es- 
tablished itself between us. But I understood Mimi’s 
tricks. She did not wish to arouse my wife’s jealousy. 
The pretty American intended, when she came to Eng- 
land, Lady Gertrude should help her into the exalted 
society that is so dear to the female side of republican 
simplicity. Yes, yes, Mrs. Mimi, I knew how your 
little brain worked. You were not the woman to 
throw away a chance. I know you said to yourself : 
“ If I set this woman’s back up I shall be snubbed 
when I come to London.” But though Mimi shifted 
her ground I stood on mine. 

We were sitting in the veranda, pretending to look 
at the view, Mimi rocking herself in a chair, admiring 
instead the points of her little shoes under the lace 
fringe of an elaborate petticoat. 

“ You have forgotten yesterday afternoon,” I said. 
“ I wish I had your memory.” I had been urging her 
to arrange another picnic with me alone. My wife, I 
explained, could not stand the heat, Silas might easily 
188 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


189 


be induced to stay behind. Why not he happy together 
— innocently happy ! once more, up in the cool mead- 
ows and scented pine woods. But she was not to be 
tempted, and laughed at my flattery. 

“ Hush, Mr. Bailey-Martin, hush,” she said. “ Be you 
the bashful gallant, I will he the Lady with the colder 
breast than snow. You don’t want Gian’s stylet 
through your hack — Silas here standing for Gian. I 
guess we know our Browning in Boston ! ” 

I would defy Don Juan himself to flirt with a woman 
who quotes Browning at him, especially when he does 
not understand the reference. 

The idea of old Silas being jealous ! There was no 
more jealousy in him than in a withered leaf. 

“ Your husband,” said I, “ is far too sensible to be 
jealous. Besides, he believes you’re an angel.” 

I did not mean to sneer. 

“ If you are determined to be rude,” she replied, “ I 
will go and talk to Lady Gertrude.” And thereupon 
she left me and went to our sitting-room to talk philos- 
ophy with my wife. 

That evening brought the Todds a telegram, calling 
them back to America ten days earlier than they ex- 
pected. Silas was pleased, but not Mimi. She took 
an affectionate leave of my wife. “ Write to me, 
Lady Gertrude,” she said, plaintively ; “ I need your 
guidance.” 

She was half in earnest too. Of course my wife would 
write, and Mrs. Todd must come and stay in London 
with us in May. 

So we parted, and when pretty Mimi was gone I con- 
fess Chamounix began to bore me. There was nothing 
to amuse us — except ourselves. It was at this point in 
our married life that, according to Gertrude’s diary, she 


190 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


commenced “ to make the first serious study of my 
character.” 

There were, I must tell you, two keys to this volume. 
Accident placed one in my hands, and I thought it well 
to keep it. Theoretically it may have been a question- 
able act, but as it enabled me (when I chose) to add to 
my wife’s happiness by unexpectedly anticipating her 
wishes, I think you will allow there are practical com- 
pensations for any moral deficiencies. Many men offend 
their wives, without knowing it, twenty times a day. 
The knowledge I was thus enabled to obtain of the 
idiosyncrasies of mine enabled me to spare her innu- 
merable little annoyances as well as to keep her eccen- 
tricities within reasonable bounds. But this autobi- 
ography is a plain, unvarnished tale, nor have I time to 
dwell on the fretful fancies that may have harassed me 
on my honeymoon. We naturally turn to the early 
days of marriage because of the great gulf that separates 
them from the bachelor existence immediately preced- 
ing them. Men are never weary of inwardly weighing 
the advantages of one state against those of the other. 
They rarely tell us, except in obvious cases of matri- 
monial failure, which they find the happier. From 
Chamounix we went to Ouchy for a fortnight, and then, 
tired of continental travelling, we returned to Eng- 
land and spent a week at Surbiton. Some men who 
had married as I have done, would have hesitated 
to bring his wife into his family circle more than 
was absolutely necessary. But Gertrude got on 
fairly well with my people. “There should be,” 
she said, “no social distinctions except intellectual 
ones.” 

My father and mother flattered her, and I think she 
liked them in a pitying sort of way. 


ME. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


191 


It is not in human nature to reject the advances of 
those people who increase our self-esteem. 

Every one Gertrude met in my father’s house treated 
her whims with the deference foolishness always meets 
with in high places. It was a pleasing spectacle to see 
her unfolding her favourite scheme of constructing a 
new religion from the ethics of Christianity and the 
dregs of Buddhism to Bob, whilst he listened in silent, 
uncomprehending reverence. My father and mother 
were spared these philosophic conferences, as being past 
the “ malleable period of intellectual life.” 

It was not quite flattering to me to find Gertrude 
more contented in the bosom of my family than alone 
with me in Switzerland. She could resume again the 
voluminous correspondence with all manner of people 
in which she delighted, that the excitement preceding 
and following our marriage had interrupted. 

Before our marriage she had seen in me a convert to 
her variegated philosophy ; but a closer intimacy con- 
vinced her of what she was pleased to call our “ mental 
divergence.” The “ want of intellectual sympathy,” of 
which she complains in her diary with tedious reitera- 
tion, seems to have disappointed her. But how simple 
is the explanation! The exigencies of courtship do 
not allow a man to criticise his wife’s opinions with 
candour. He finds it easier and more profitable to 
acquiesce in them. This little exhibition of human 
weakness on my part made her misunderstand my 
character, and it was not until the collapse of the 
“ Time Spirit ” that she formed a better estimate of it. 
How many of Gertrude’s theories were interesting, a 
few ingenious, but not one could possibly help me. 

At last they bored me till I could no longer conceal it. 

From Surbiton we went to the seaside for a few 


192 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


weeks, and in the autumn settled down in my wife’s 
house at Kensington. 

I could now set to work seriously at the business of 
life again, and 1 turned to politics as the natural out- 
let for my energies. 

At first a seat in the House of Commons seems a long 
way off to a young man with no political connections. 
But I was not discouraged. When I looked at the list 
of Members and traced their origin and progress up- 
wards, I perceived advantages in my favour. 

Gertrude wisely encouraged me in this idea. She 
fancied that if ever I got into the House she would 
have, indirectly, a voice in the future legislation of the 
country, and it suited me to. encourage the idea. 

But, oh for the lost Marlington interest ! If it could 
have been secured how invaluable it would have been ! 

Bighton House is two miles from Dichester, and until 
the Reform Bill the ancestors of my wife had selected 
the borough member. But these days had gone by. 
Dichester had increased in population and importance : 
a great boot and shoe manufactory had grown up 
and opulently flourished. Diggs’s boots are famous for 
cheapness and rottenness all over the world. At the 
period to which I refer an aged member of the Diggs 
family represented the borough in the Conservative in- 
terest. An effete person of much apathy, exceeding 
wealth, and rapidly failing health, he had beaten the 
Marlington candidate by a few votes. The earl, my 
father-in-law, was a Liberal, Liberalism, or rather Whig- 
gism, being a tradition in that noble family. 

My wife’s father had sworn himself into an attack 
of gout at the slight the town had cast on his family, 
and withdrawn all his subscriptions from the local 
charities. The resignation of the present member was 


MU. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


193 


imminent, owing to his failing health. The chances of 
a Conservative being re-elected were small. Labour 
quarrels had deprived the Diggs family of their pop- 
ularity, and the seat was ready to fall into the hands 
of any enterprising Liberal who could secure the Mar- 
lington interest. Who had a greater right to it than 
the man who had married the daughter of the House ! 
Alas ! these painful family estrangements. But 
Gertrude, although she earnestly desired to see me 
member for Dichester, refused to take any steps towards 
reconciliation and pointed to the letter her father 
had addressed to her as a reason. 

Why not try and win the seat in spite of him ? 
Righton might be induced to help me. At all events 
it was worth my while to nurse the constituency. It 
was one needing wooing, and my wife who knew the 
place and the people undertook to help me. 

In the middle of November we opened the campaign. 

13 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


In the picturesque High Street of Dichester stands 
an old, time-stained hostelry called the “ White Hart.” 
Above the arched entrance to the courtyard, dimly 
discerned, can be seen the Righton arms, two spears 
crossed over an owl’s head, with the motto Tout droit , 
Righton, from whence the family name is derived. 

It was kept by an ex-butler of the Earl’s. In my 
boyhood, when I had been a guest at the house in the 
absence, as I have said, of the Earl and Countess, 
Bennett had taken me under his especial protection. 
More than one wet afternoon have I spent, not dis- 
agreeably, in his pantry, watching him polish the silver, 
and listening to the many stories he had to tell (not 
always to their credit), of the various members of the 
aristocracy who, in the younger days of his master, 
used to visit at the then great house. 

“ But what with my lady being so straight-laced,” he 
used to say, “and my lord having such a weakness 
for the fair sex, we left off entertaining.” 

In compliance with the wishes of my father, I invari- 
ably gave Bennett two pounds whenever I stayed with 
the school- fellow destined to become my future brother- 
in-law, a gift he duly appreciated. I was, he said, 
“quite the gentleman,” and being a kindly-natured 
man he occasionally condescended to take part in my 
juvenile sports when, owing to his habitual lethargy, 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 195 

Rigliton left me to my own resources for my amuse- 
ment. 

Bennett had saved money and married the woman 
who had come into the Marlington family as nurse to 
Lady Gertrude, and who, when her services were no 
longer required, had gradually developed into a sort of 
un-official housekeeper. This alliance was entered into 
without the knowledge or consent of Lady Marling- 
ton. It was, I believe, owing to natural causes that she 
discovered it. They had, she told them, grossly de- 
ceived her, and she could therefore dispense with their 
services. The happy pair withdrew from the seclusion 
of Iiighton House to the publicity of the “ White Hart,” 
the good-will of which he purchased cheaply from 
an incompetent predecessor. They had prospered in 
Dichester. Bennett had acquired some considerable 
house property. His affluence and popularity were so 
great that the burgesses of the place wished him to be 
mayor. But he rejected the honour. He had aris- 
tocratic notions. That an ex-butler should blossom into 
a mayor was not, in his opinion, consistent with pro- 
priety. So another mayor, at his suggestion, was 
chosen, his very good friend the local sadler, who also 
possessed a tan-yard. 

When we were married Mr. and Mrs. Bennett sent 
us a handsome silver pap-bowl, of which we have, un- 
fortunately, never had any use. In her way Gertrude 
was fond of her old nurse, to whom she annually sent a 
sixpenny Christmas card, “ with Gertrude’s love.” 

The Bennetts, who had now been associated with 
Dichester for fifteen years, were exactly the right sort 
of allies needed in nursing a constituency. 

The rumour, which proved to be unfounded, that Mr 
Diggs, M.P., was suffering from a slight attack of 


196 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


paralysis, induced us to go down to Dichester and stay 
at the “ White Hart.” For the doors of her family-seat 
were sternly closed against my wife. 

The unsentimental view Gertrude took of the matter 
was almost painful to my feelings. We drove from 
the station in the brougham Bennett had sent to meet 
us, and saw in the distance the square walls of Righton 
House rising above the sodden tree-tops on that dull 
November day. 

“ I should be sorry to stay there,” she said, glancing 
towards it without a sign of feeling ; “ it never agreed 
with me. It is too damp.” 

Bennett received us with a sort of patronizing respect, 
which I perceived would need checking. 

“Glad to see you, sir, I’m sure,” he said, shaking 
the hand I offered, “ strange things do happen, to be 
sure. Fancy now you marryin’ Lady Gertrude. But 
I’m a Lib’ral — a true Lib’ral — and, though surprisin’, 
these things are all right when you get used to them. 
But how the classes do get mixed up now-a-days. 
You’ll scarcely credit it, but they acshually arst me to 
be their mayor. But at all events I knew my place. 
But I must say, sir, you’re grown an uncommon fine- 
looking gentleman.” 

This whilst his wife was conducting Lady Gertrude 
to the rooms that had been prepared. 

You will perceive that, though a Liberal in politics, 
Bennett was unconsciously a supporter of class ex- 
clusiveness. He knew all about the “Oloptic” and 
the Bailey-Martins’ connection with trade, and my alli- 
ance with the ancient family he had served filled him 
with a sort of amazement. 

“ And you, Bennett, don’t look a day older since I 
last saw you at Righton House. I heard all about the 


MB. BA1LE Y-MA II TIN. 


197 


honour Dichester wished to do you and of your mod- 
esty. I have come down here on political business, 
Bennett, and want your help.” 

And I told him what my plans were. 

“You won’t get the Marlington interest,” said he. 
“ My Lord was dead against the marriage, and swore 
dreadful when he heard about it. He’s staying at the 
House now with two or three ladies of whom least said 
soonest mended. He don’t get no better, on’y shakier, 
savager and wickerder as he grows older. Still, with 
all his faults, he’s one o’ the old school.” 

“ Then,” said I, “ as my esteemed father-in-law has 
quarrelled with everybody his support may not be as 
invaluable as you suppose. But I shall call on him to- 
morrow.” 

“ Call on him ! ” echoed Bennett in surprise. “ Well ! 
you are a good plucked un ! ” 

It was in reality Bennett’s manner which made me 
take this resolution. The ex-butler evidently looked 
at the old Earl of Marlington as a sort of thundering, 
cloud-compelling, local Jupiter, to be propitiated with 
the burnt-offerings of obsequious respect, and not as 
an irritable gout-afflicted old reprobate to be bearded in 
his own country-seat. I had only seen the Earl once 
at the lodge gates when I was a boy staying at Righton 
House. I was clearing out just as he was coming in. 
He had merely asked who “the deuce” I was, and 
driven on without taking the trouble to look at me 
when informed of my identity. Righton, who was ac- 
companying me to the station, had endeavored to 
smuggle me out of the place without meeting his 
father who, he remarked, with an air of relief, “ was not 
a bit waxy after all.” This incident, half forgotten now, 
recurred to my mind. 


198 


MR. BA1LEY-MA R TIN. 


“The truth is, Bennett,” said I, “some one ought 
to tell Lord Marlin gton the truth. Lord Righton al- 
ways funked his father, my wife misunderstood him. 
When I have a duty to do, I do it. To-morrow after- 
noon I intend to ask him for his political support in 
the borough, should it become vacant.” 

The little plump man looked up admiringly at my six 
feet. 

“Well, sir,” said he, “he can’t eat you, and so long 
as you don’t mind being sworn at there’s nothing to be 
afraid of.” 

“ Besides, Bennett,” I continued, “ it is exceedingly 
unpleasant to me to find my father-in-law disgracing, 
at his time of life, the family into which I have mar- 
ried. My whole future as a statesman might be 
blighted by it. In certain political quarters I have 
suffered already. To be son-in-law of Lord Marling- 
ton carries anything but credit. I am tired of being 
asked why I cannot keep him in order.” And I 
frowned at Bennett over the glass of sherry and 
bitters he had provided. He was impressed, as I had 
intended he should be. There was no more talking 
about the mixing of the classes now. A determined 
manner and a cool head can do much with people like 
Bennett, who are sent into the world, no doubt for an 
all-wise purpose, to “carry trenchers,” and respect 
their betters. 

I told my wife of my intention to call on her father 
whilst we were dressing for dinner. 

“ There will,” she said, “ only be a scene. Briggs — 
Mrs. Bennett I mean — assures me the servants tell her 
he has become more violent than ever.” 

“ It will do your father good,” I replied, “ to meet a 
man who is not afraid of him.” 


Mli. BAIL EY-MAB TEX. 


199 


But on the following day, when T was face-to-face 
with my purpose and the brougham waiting before 
the “ White Hart,” to carry me to Righton House, I 
confess I felt a trifle uneasy. I was going, in the first 
place, on my wife’s account, as a herald of peace. 
We had discussed the matter half through the night, 
and at last she had been persuaded that “ for the sake 
of my political future,” it might be well “ to eat a little 
humble-pie.” 

Bennett was much interested and amused, taking a 
sort of sporting interest in the forthcoming encounter. 
Gertrude I think admired my courage. She had come 
to look on her father as though he were a kind of 
modern Cenci. “ He had commenced his abandoned 
career,” she had told me, “ to annoy his pious and evan- 
gelical wife, and ended in finding it so suited to his 
tastes that he continued it for his personal gratification 
after it had driven her out of the house.” Truly I had 
married into an amiable family ! 

I lit a cigar at the ancient bar where Bennett used 
to sit like a local King Cole, patronizing his fellow- 
townsmen. My battle of Austerlitz must be fought. 
The chances of obtaining a victory were small. The 
Earl might refuse to see me. 

“ Not he,” replied Bennett to this suggestion. “ Too 
much fight in ’im for that. He’ll ’ave yer into his 
private room and blackguard yer, or ’ave a go at yer 
before his ladies, satiric-like, his fav’rite game.” 

But I smiled on him with an indifference I did not feel, 
and as I left heard him mutter to his wife that I was a 
“cool ’and.” Yet I was, I confess, a little nervous at 
the prospect, and kept up my courage by explaining to 
myself that Lord Marl in gt on after all could only be 
very insulting. At most we could only have a row. 


‘200 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


He could not wound my feelings more than he had 
already done by his brutal letter to my wife. If he 
were not to be propitiated by a dove bearing the olive- 
branch of peace, I had decided to give him what 
servants call “ a bit of my mind.” 

“After all, Percival, my boy,” said I .encouragingly, 
as the iron gates came into sight, “ it is not so bad as 
a visit to the dentist ; ” still, I think it was something 
like it. 

As I entered the long drive on the pale autumn day, 
under the half-bared branches, I wished the beach- 
tree avenue longer. 

Righton House, re-built in the reign of George II., is 
a big barrack-like structure with a great number of 
rooms, and no signs of architectural beauty. All the 
window panes seemed frowning at me, and the great 
doors looked like the jaws of some sullen monster, 
that cannot open without a hungry snap. How loud 
the bell rang ! Yes, I certainly was nervous. The coach- 
man waiting to drive me back, tried to look as though 
he did not know why I had come. The door opened, 
and in the glass door behind I saw my face. Thank 
goodness, it did not show the faintest trace of emotion ! 
My frock coat hung faultlessly from my square 
shoulders, my trousers did not show a wrinkle. 

“Lord Marlington at home?” said I. “Tell him 
Mr. Bailey-Martin wishes to see him.” 

I saw by the footman’s face he had heard my name 
before. 

He showed me into a very long drawing-room with 
two fireplaces, only one of which was alight, and then 
left me. The scheme of decoration was yellow, the 
chairs yellow ; outside the day was yellowing too. 

But the servant entered. “ My Lord,” he said, “ would 


MB. BAILE Y-MA R TIN. 


201 


not believe it was you, and told me to ask for your 
card.” 

I gave it to him. “ Tell Lord Marlington,” said I, 
“ there is no mistake.” 

Then the man returned again. 

“ My Lord will see you in the boudoir,” he said, with 
a faint grin on his shaven face. 

I followed him down a long passage, till, opening an 
unexpected door, he ushered me into one of those rooms 
usually associated with young and frivolous married 
women — one of those rooms which irritated my wife, 
“false in art,” I am quoting her — “and false in 
taste.” 

The rose-pink curtains were drawn, a tall lamp 
lighted ; sitting just beyond its shaded rays was the 
Earl, my father-in-law ; beyond that, more dimly de- 
scried, two ladies. 

Leaning back lazily in his arm-chair with a bald 
gray head, and an aquiline nose over a white mustache, 
Lord Marlington somehow reminded me of a wicked 
Earl in a Family Herald story. Ilis legs were long and 
thin, and his waist in circumference out of proportion 
to his otherwise thin figure. The door closed behind 
me, and I stood waiting for him to say something, but, 
he merely stared in silence, waiting, I suppose, for me 
to begin. Bennett was right. The Earl meant to have 
a go at me before the ladies. 

I sat down uninvited, wondering, whilst I nursed 
my hat, how I should begin. 

“ You have, as far as you know, never seen me, Lord 
Marlington,” I commenced at last, “ although I have 
the honour to be nearly allied to your family by mar- 
riage.” 

“ You didn’t come here to tell me of your domestic 


202 


MIL BAILE Y-M A It TIN. 


arrangements. They have no interest for me. Wliat clo 
you want ? ” 

“ Simply reconciliation.” 

At this a titter from the gloom, but a strangely 
familiar one. 

“ You are making these young friends of mine laugh,” 
he said. 

“ So I perceive,” said I ; “ but as the conversation I 
wish to have with you concerns only ourselves, perhaps 
you will allow me to see you in private.” 

I intended to speak with crushing dignity. It 
caused the laugh to be repeated with greater careless- 
ness. I glanced in the direction of it, and, wonder of 
wonders ! beheld an old friend, shall I say flame ? 
St. Claire, the pretty long-skirt dancer of the Frivolity. 
I had introduced Righton to her, and now she 
was on a visit to his father. I burst out in wonder, 
all my dignity quenched in astonishment. 

“ Cissie, who on earth expected to see you here ? ” 

She exploded into a downright vulgar upheaval of 
unrestrained mirth. 

“ What dignity, Pur,” — she always insisted on calling 
me Pur — like Bob did, “and what diplomacy ! You 
missed your vocation : you ought to go on the stage.” 
I paid no attention to her, but watched the face of my 
father-in-law. 

He looked like a fiend, and the veins in his forehead 
were swelling dangerously. Cissie saw the fierce glare 
in his pale bloodshot eyes — eyes wickedly like my 
wife’s : “ Let’s cut it,” she said to her friend ; “ there’s 
going to be a family row, let ’em fight it out alone.” 
So saying, the two ladies gleefully hurried out of the 
room, leaving us alone. 

“ What an odd meeting,” said I, in sheer amazement. 


MR. B A ILK Y-MA R TIN. 


203 


“ D cl odd, sir,” said the Earl, jumping from his 

chair. 

“ As odd as you please, sir,” said I, rising too. 

My blood was up, and I was not afraid of a whole 
wilderness of Earls. 

He opened fire. A broadside a bargee might have 
envied. I was an adjectived son of an adjectived shop- 
keeper ; his three-barrelled adjective of a daughter was 
only fit for a criminal lunatic asylum for marrying 
such a low-bred cockney cad. Yet I must not forget 
he was my father-in law. Why should I show him 
to you in all his naked ferocity ? If I had flinched, 
I believe he would have struck me, but I was two 
inches taller than he, and I fancy he must have seen 
something in my eyes to daunt him, for no one likes to 
be called a low-bred cockney cad, with all imaginary 
adjectival qualifications. 

But at last he stopped for want of breath, and throw- 
ing himself back into his arm-chair, further utterance 
was arrested by a violent fit of coughing. 

“ Now, you have finished, my Lord,” I said, “ perhaps 
you will let me tell you why I have come here.” 

“ Why ! to lick the blacking off my boots,” he 
roared, springing to his feet again. “ Get out of my 
house ! ” Then he tugged the bell. 

“ When your daughter said you were a ruffian,” I 
answered, savage at last, “ she spoke the truth.” 

The right side of his face flickered with a savagely 
contorted grin, and his white false teeth flashed out 
prominently for a moment under his grey moustache. 
A grin to remember, scarcely human looking. 

The servant entered. 

« See this fellow out, and never let him come in 
again.” 


204 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


The old brute was as unapproachable as a grisly 
bear, so I left him. 

This was the only interview with my wife’s father I 
ever had. 

In the hall Cissie St. Claire met me. 

“ How did it go off ? ” she asked, laughing mischiev- 
ously. 

“ Papa-in-law,” said I, “ is nearly apoplectic with 
rage. Go and console him, my dear. He needs it.” 

“ If you’ve upset him,” she replied, “ I shall go back 
to town. But I daresay it will be amusing to hear 
him abusing you, although they do tell me now you 
are married you have also reformed, Master Pur. I 
hope your repentance is sincere. But don’t come here 
again and interrupt the domestic bliss of other people. 
Stay away and enjoy your own.” 

And so Cissie capered around me, laughing deri- 
sively at the situation ; and, as I descended the wide 
steps the ballet-girl waved me an adieu from the seat 
of the ancient Righton family. 

“ Ta-ta ! Pur, ta-ta ! ” 

I drove away musing. The battle was over. It had 
been a victory for Lord Marlington. He had turned 
me out of the house. But I had learnt one thing. 
This fierce, inflamed old gentleman could not keep his 
son out of the title much longer. Upon my honour I 
believe he was jealous, and that if Cissie had not been 
there I could have got over him. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


When I told my wife what manner of reception 
mine had been, she did not exactly say “ I told yon so,” 
for that would have been too commonplace for the 
refinement of phrase she cultivated, but the four words 
epitomized her remarks on the subject. Bennett was 
curious to know the result of our interview, but I did 
not gratify him. His experience as mine host of the 
White Hart* had not obliterated habits acquired as a 
footman, and the earlier training prevented him from 
openly questioning me. 

“ Our interview,” I said, “ w r as a painful one, but I do 
not think the Earl of Marlington will easily forget it. 
Politically I can count on him. Other relations I have 
no desire to cultivate.” 

You see I was compelled to give a diplomatic account 
of the interview. 

Bennett insisted on waiting on us at dinner, and 
stood solemnly behind my chair. I think he expected 
to pick up something interesting from our conversa- 
tion, but I turned it in the direction of my wife’s book, 
“ The Evolution of Conduct,” then at Chapter II. on 
the “ relation of instinct to morals.” 

In vain he filled my glass with champagne and my 
wife’s with soda-water. When Gertrude is once start- 
ed on her hobbies she is not easily diverted from her 
course. I still remember how earnestly she demon- 

205 


206 


MIL BAILEY-MARTIN. 


strated that cannibalism, as practised by the tribes 
in the Congo Forests, far from being technically im- 
moral, is merely a very striking example of obedience 
to the law of necessity, linked to atavistic propensity. 
But I will spare you her arguments. I do not think, 
from the expression of Bennett’s face, they could have 
been popularly convincing. Still, however specious 
they may have been, they showed an extreme freedom 
from conventional prejudice. 

I had arranged next morning with Bennett to call 
on some of the leading tradespeople, and his friend 
the Mayor, with a view of ascertaining how far they 
might be willing to accept me as their candidate, when 
the unexpected incident Providence so often contrives 
altered my plans. 

It was after breakfast, about half-past ten. The rain 
was pouring steadily, the High Street tesselated with 
muddy puddles. I stood at the door watching a horse- 
man in a gleaming mackintosh splashing along at a 
high rate of speed and excitement. “ Some one to fetch 
a doctor,” thought I with a certain sense of satisfac- 
tion that it was not my fate to obey the summons of 
any fractious invalid with a bad liver. 

He pulled up, however, opposite the door of the 
White Hart, leaving his horse, smoking in the humid 
atmosphere like a damp chimney, to the care of a lad 
groping with a stick in a blocked-up gutter, and hastily 
mounted the steps, bearing a letter. 

“ A note for you, sir,” said he, handing me a damp 
envelope. 

It was in Cissie’s writing. 

What could she want ? 

I opened the clammy envelope. 


MB. BAILE Y-MA R TIN. 


207 


“Dear Pur — We were pals once, and I never forget 
pals ; so I drop you a line 'which, unless I’m mistaken, 
will be useful. The Earl, poor old chap, has just had 
a sort of stroke. 

“ They’ve sent for the doctor, telegraphed for Lady 
Marlington to Bath, but as it has occurred to no one 
else, the duty of writing to his son-in-law has de- 
volved on me. Gussie and I are off to town by the 
first train. This place is just too awful. Look me up 
at the old address and remember to say thank you. 
You’ll be minister some day, my boy, or I’m not 

“Your old pal, 

“ Cissie St. Claire.” 

Then I remembered the old man’s twisted mouth. 

The groom stood waiting whilst I read the letter. 

“ My Lord’s had some sort of fit,” he said, in answer 
to my looks. “Must have took him in the night. 
His man found him caught up all a’ one side when he 
carried up his chocolate. Miss St. Claire told me to 
give you that note.” 

Bennett came to join us as we stood on the door- 
mat. When he heard what had occurred he said, 
“Gor’ bless my soul ! ” several times.' 

“ I want the brougham,” said I. “ Lady Gertrude 
and I must drive over to Righton House at once.” 

I found my wife busy with her manuscripts. “ Your 
father’s had a fit or something of the sort,” said I. “ A 
groom has galloped over to say so.” 

“ A fit ? ” she asked, “ what sort of fit ? ” 

“ The man said a fit or a stroke of some kind.” 

“ How inaccurate these people are ! ” 

“You can’t expect the servants to make a careful 
diagnosis,” said I irritably. “They have only just 


208 


MR. BAILE Y-MAR TIN. 


discovered it, and the doctor had not arrived when 
the messenger started. Get ready at once. The 
brougham’s ordered, our proper place is at Righton 
House. Your brother ’s in America — your mother at 
Bath. For all we know your father may be dead before 
we get there.” 

“ That depends on the nature of his attack,” she said, 
carefully placing the pages of her manuscript in a port- 
folio. 

I was more moved and excited than she, and com- 
menced at once to change the light suit I wore for a 
black one, as better fitting an occasion of gravity. 

“ Did they write ? ” she asked. 

“ No, sent a verbal message .” 

Whilst she was methodically buttoning her boots, I 
ran downstairs to send off the groom before she could 
see him. The Bennetts were regaling him with rum- 
and- water and eager gossip. 

“ Go back and tell the housekeeper,” said I, authori- 
tatively, “ Lady Gertrude and I are coming at once.” I 
gave him half a sovereign. 

“ Ah,” said Mrs. Bennett, “ he’ll never get over it. 
Doctors can’t do anything for those strokes. Poor 
Lord Marlington, all down his left side, they tell me.” 
Mrs. Bennett was cheerfully depressed. 

She sighed, but found in the excitement a compen- 
sation for the dull, wet day. Her husband was, I am 
sure, conjecturing how Lord Righton’s coming into the 
title could affect his interests. 

“ I did a great deal for the Earl of Marlington in my 
younger days, sir.” 

“Well, I daresay he has remembered it in his will.” 

He shook his head in a resigned, self-satisfied 
regret. 


MB. BA ILL Y-MA B TIN. 


209 


“ Not he, sir, not he. Still it’s a consolation to know 
you’ve done yer duty.” 

“ I have always found it a great one, Bennett, but 
here’s the brougham.” 

Then Gertrude came down in a long sealskin jacket, 
calm but thoughtful. Her old nurse whimpered over 
her a little, in the perfunctory manner of upper-servants 
whose sympathies have been purchased. My wife 
accepted it as a matter of course. 

“ I daresay my father will get over it,” she said. 

“ Never, my lady, never.” 

But I hurried her into the brougham, and we started. 

“ You take it pretty calmly,” said I. 

“ It is twelve years since I saw my father,” she re- 
plied, “ then he swore me out of the house. Since I 
have had one letter from him.” 

I knew the one to which she referred. 

“ I hope,” she continued, “ you do not wish me to 
assume a grief I cannot possibly feel. It is the most 
vulgar form of affectation.” 

I did not wish to say anything rude, so held my peace. 
But before we entered the lodge gates, I impressed 
upon her the duty of exerting her authority. 

“ Till your mother comes, you must be mistress,” I 
said. 

The clouds had fallen lower, and the rain changed 
into a penetrating mist. 

“ I always said the land was not properly drained,” 
she said, looking round at the pools of water lying in 
every hollow. I think if my wife had had more senti- 
ment, we should have got on better. But she used her 
philosophy as a shield against her emotion, except 
occasionally in her diary when lamenting my defi- 
ciencies. 


14 


210 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


Should we find the old man dead or alive, I wondered. 

If the fit proved merely a temporary one, I foresaw a 
scene. How savage our invasion would make him if he 
were vigorous enough to resent it. Then I thought of 
Cissie St. Claire and half-forgotten rollicking suppers in 
Strand restaurants. Gertrude was looking unmoved at 
the house in which she had been born, with its square- 
shouldered air of truculent superiority, blinking through 
its rows of windows on the damp park. 

“It looks just the same,” said Gertrude, “ only they 
have cut down some trees. Shall we keep the carriage 
or send it back ?” 

This question before the doors of her own home. 

“ That depends. We will wait and see.” 

“ How is he ? ” said I to the man. 

“ Very bad ; the doctor is here, sir.” 

Then the housekeeper met us, a new-comer since 
Gertrude’s expulsion. 

“ I have prepared rooms for you, my lady,” she said, 
“ if you propose to stay.” 

We went into the yellow drawing-room. “ How the 
paper has faded,” said my wife. 

Soon the doctor came downstairs. Gertrude and I 
saw him in the library. He told us the Earl had had 
a stroke of paralysis, and lost articulate utterance, and 
the use of one side. At present, he was not conscious. 
Unless the seizure were followed by another, there were 
grounds for hoping for a partial recovery, at least. 
Perhaps until the nurse arrived, Gertrude would re- 
main in her father’s room. He must especially be kept 
very quiet. Then the country doctor, delighted with 
so important a case, drove away, promising to return 
shortly with the Earl’s London physician, with whom 
he had put himself into communication. 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


211 


But Gertrude did not much like her task. 

“You cannot leave him to hirelings,” I said. “Re- 
member whatever differences you may have had you 
are his daughter.” 

I looked through the crack of the door. The old 
man was breathing heavily, lying on his right side. 

Gertrude sat at the foot of the bed. The two women 
on temporary duty departed to the more cheerful sur- 
roundings of the servants’ hall. 

The following problem now presented itself to me : 

At last we were installed in Righton House, its 
master, helpless, speechless, and impotent, how could it 
be turned to our advantage ? 

Our friends and acquaintances all knew how per- 
sistently the Earl of Marlington had snubbed me. Lord 
Righton had never concealed the fact at the Celibate 
Club, nor had the Earl himself scrupled to speak of me 
to acquaintances of my own as “ the son of an upstart 
tradesman who must be taught his place.” 

You know how these little speeches come round in 
London. Funny people pick them up and turn them 
into amusing anecdotes. Besides, there is nothing that 
makes people so angry as social success. Absurd 
though it must seem to you, who really know me, there 
were some men — men of position too — who actually 
accused me of tuft-hunting ; there were others of no 
position at all, who referred contemptuously to my 
origin. It was to silence detractors of all sorts that I 
sat down and wrote the following paragraph : 

“ We regret to announce that on Tuesday the Earl 
of Marlington was prostrated by a severe stroke of 
paralysis, and that he is now lying at Righton House 
in a very critical condition. Fortunately Mr. Percival 
Bailey-Martin, his son-in-law, and Lady Gertrude Bailey 


212 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


Martin, the Earl’s only daughter, were present at the 
time. The other members of the family have been 
telegraphed for, and Mr. Bailey-Martin has cabled to 
his brother-in-law, Lord Righton, pointing out the 
gravity of the case and urging his immediate return. 
On the previous evening the Earl of Marlington had 
an interview with his son-in-law, in which he urged 
him to stand for the borough of Dichest er at the next 
election. His lordship is naturally anxious it should 
be represented by a member of his own family. Mr. 
Bailey-Martin, we are further informed, formally con- 
ceded to the wishes of his father-in-law ; and is pre- 
pared to contest the seat when a vacancy occurs. 
The noble Earl has always been active in promoting 
the fortunes of his party, and the fact that his last 
duty before his unfortunate seizure was performed in 
their interests has lent a pathetic aspect to the de- 
plorable incident.” 

I enclosed the above to Jemmie Blake, promising 
him a sovereign for every insertion he secured in a 
London paper. It proved an expensive transaction 
for me. 

When the nurse arrived Gertrude joined me in the 
library. 

Her father, she said, continued to sleep. We 
lunched together in the great dining-room, I with a 
good appetite. 

Lady Marlington was expected at three o’clock. To 
pass the time, I wrote a few letters, using the stamped 
and crested paper of the Earl, and also sent a note to the 
Editor of the local paper to thank the county generally 
in the name of the Marlington family for its “ expres- 
sion of sympathy with us in this the hour of our afflic- 
tion.” And explained how, in the absence of my 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 213 

brother-in-law, the acknowledgment devolved on 
me. 

Then the clock struck three. Gertrude was making 
pencil notes in a pocket-book. 

“ Your mother will be here shortly,” I said to her ; 
“ I hope you will manage to agree.” 

“That will depend on the length of time we are 
together,” she answered. “ I hope we shall be able to 
return to town to-morrow.” 

I hoped otherwise but did not say so. Soon we heard 
the carriage approaching, and then the bell rang. 

“ Come and meet your mother in the hall,” I said. 

Gertrude obeyed. 

The footman threw open the door, and the Countess 
entered, — a tall figure in black, and closely veiled ; 
wearing an obsolete bonnet of capacious dimensions, 
associated in my mind with her peculiar form of 
theology. 

I had looked forward to the meeting of my wife 
and her mother with curiosity. It was frigid. 

“You are here, I see,” said the Countess, extending 
a black gloved hand and raising her funereal veil. 
She reminded me of a hearse, and, I thought what an 
unpleasant shock she must cause her husband if he 
woke up and found her there. Give me cheerful people, 
if you please, if ever I am in need of nursing ! Gertrude 
accepted the maternal greeting with equal restraint. 

« And may I ask who this is ? ” said the Countess, 
glancing under the rim of her bonnet at me. 

“ My husband, Mr. Bailey-Martin.” 

“ Indeed.” 

Then I advanced and shook her unresponsive black 
glove. 

“ I have not seen you, Lady Marlington,” said I re- 


214 


MR. BAILE Y-MA R TIN. 


spectfully, “ since I was at school with your son, and 
feel acutely the painful circumstances under which we 
meet.” 

“ It is,” answered her ladyship grimly, “ no time for 
recriminations.” 

Then, turning to Gertrude, she said : “ How is your 
father ? ” 

“ Unaltered since the morning.” 

“ I will see him at once.” 

Then she followed the housekeeper up to Lord Mar- 
lington’s room. I afterwards heard the nurse had some 
difficulty in preventing her from waking him up in 
order that he might hear of her arrival. 

What a happy family we were to he sure ! 

At half-past four tea was served in the library, and 
the Countess came down to preside over it. The house- 
keeper had given her an account of the various guests, 
mostly of the theatrical profession, who had visited at 
Righton House, and my lady was scandalized. 

“ The two last abandoned women,” she said, “ only 
left this morning.” 

“ I called to see Lord Marlington yesterday,” said I, 
“ and found them both here.” 

“ And pray, may I ask what brought you here, Mr. 
Martin ? ” 

“ Political business.” 

“ There was,” she said, “ a scene of course. The 
servants told me something of it.” 

But at this point a further exchange of ideas with my 
mother-in-law was interrupted by the arrival of the phy- 
sician from town. He visited the patient, announced his 
concurrence in the treatment of the local practitioner, 
and anticipated a comparative recovery for the sufferer, 
unless another stroke occurred, which would be in all 


MR. B A IL E Y-MA R TLX. 


215 


probability fatal. “ Lord Marlington will probably rally 
to-morrow,” he added, “ when complete consciousness 
will return. He must on no account be excited.” 

He looked at Lady Marlington as he spoke. 

“ I will see to that,” she answered, “ even if I have 
to stand sentry at his door.” 

Then, when the doctor had gone, a sombre silence fell 
on the big house, whilst we three sat in the library. 

Sickness is doubly depressing in a house from which 
all natural affection has departed. The Countess had 
taken the supreme command and treated me with icy 
coolness. Silence was her shield — an impenetrable 
silence no commonplace remark could penetrate. We 
three sat there waiting for the dinner-hour, Gertrude 
busy with her note-book, the Countess stonily reading 
a work published by the Religious Tract Society, I 
wondering what was about to happen. There seemed 
a big cloud gathering over the place, out of which some- 
thing must burst. But what ? I was curious to see, 
and not dissatisfied with the day’s work. I had secured 
a point and advertised myself. The outside public 
would believe the son-in law was the prop of the Mar- 
lington family. I looked at the grim Countess, who 
would not look at me, wondering how she could be 
propitiated. 

Dinner, for which I had carefully dressed, wearing a 
black tie as a concession to the family calamity, was 
at last announced. I made an attempt to offer the Coun- 
tess my arm, but she pretended she did not see me and 
stalked out of the room alone. I do not think a word 
was spoken. It was a painful sight to see that pious 
lady sipping a tumbler of water. 

“No wine for me!” she said, sternly, to the servant 
who approached her chair. Gertrude drank two glasses 


216 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


of claret', not because she liked it, but as a sort of con- 
tradiction to her mother’s total abstaining principles. 

When we had finished with the “ funeral-baked, 
meats,” an interesting incident occurred. 

“ Benson,” said her ladyship, addressing the butler, 
“ at nine o’clock I expect all the household to assemble 
in the chapel for prayers. See that the lamps are 
lighted.” 

“ Beg your pardon, my lady,” he answered, “ but 
the Earl’s done away with it ; turned back again into a 
smoking-room.” 

The chapel was a nominal one, and had come into 
existence as the result of a quarrel between the Earl 
and his Countess. He had insisted that the family- 
prayers, in which he refused to take part, should be 
held in a remote corner of the house where the cere- 
mony could not interfere with him, because “ if there 
was one thing he refused to stand it was to see a lot of 
hypocrites on their knees.” 

In consequence, Lady Marlington chose a room, re- 
moved the furniture, procured a few hard benches and 
a reading-desk, and, having set it aside for domestic 
devotion, called it the chapel. When the final split took 
place and Lady Marlington quitted her husband’s roof 
the first use he made of his victory was, with the help 
of the upholsterers from London, to convert this 
sanctuary into a luxurious smoking-room, for which, 
in the days of his predecessor, it had been used. 

The unexpected announcement of this sacrilegious 
alteration was a shock to the Countess. Her face 
flushed with indignation, and her religious stoicism was 
pierced. 

“ This stroke,” she said, looking towards Gertrude, 
“ is verily a judgment on your father ! ” 


Mil. B A LLEY-MA B FIX. 


217 


I think Gertrude whispered “ nonsense,” under her 
breath. 

“ I will ask you, sir, who as an Oxford graduate may 
be supposed to have received the rudiments of a Chris- 
tian education, whether you have ever known an act of 
greater sacrilege ? ” 

“ It is, Lady Marlington,” said I, “ an act to be deeply 
deplored. Your natural regret has my sincerest sym- 
pathy ” 

Gertrude gave me a contemptuous glance. 

“ I am gratified to hear you say so,” said the Countess, 
“ and, knowing my daughter’s atheistical views, I may 
add, surprised.” 

Gertrude closed her thin lips tightly — I know what 
she was thinking about. 

“ Since the chapel has been destroyed,” said Lady 
Marlington, turning again to the butler, “you will 
direct the servants to assemble here at nine o’clock 
when I ring the bell. A godless master is served by 
godless servants, but whilst I am here this household 
shall not retire to rest without returning thanks for the 
blessings mercifully vouchsafed to it during the day.” 

It will never be known whether the Countess was 
including herself among them. 

Then we returned to the library. 

“ There is no necessity for us to be hypocritical,” 
said my wife, as we were crossing the hall. 

“ I’m sorry,” said I, “ you cannot see the difference 
between hypocrisy and diplomacy.” 

After another hour’s silence the big clock in the court- 
yard struck nine, and the Countess, having provided 
herself with an Old Testament and a volume of Family 
Prayers, marched off to the dining-room, where I re- 
spectfully followed her. 


218 


MB. BA 1LEY-MA B TIN. 


It was long since I had assisted at family worship, 
— at home, as we had grown older, the practice had been 
discontinued. 

Lady Marlington took her place at the head of the 
table, I mine at her right hand. Then the servants 
filed in, the maids demurely excited, but with a faint 
inclination to giggle — a weakness the acid face of the 
Countess at once checked. 

“ Are all the household assembled ? ” asked she of 
the housekeeper. 

“ All the servants are here,” was the reply. 

The Countess looked at them like a general officer 
addressing mutinous troops. “ Only one member 
of the household is holding aloof,” she said, sternly, 
glancing at me, wiio sighed, faintly, in sympathy. 
“ May I ask, sir, if your wife absents herself from our 
devotions with your sanction ? ” 

I was a little taken aback. “ Certainly not,” I replied 
emphatically. 

“ In that case perhaps you will request her to join us, 
and remind her an example is expected from one born in 
her position.” 

A little awkward this ! But, “ humour the old lady, 
humour her,” said the voice of discretion. 

Bowing respectfully, I went to fetch Gertrude. 
“ Come to prayers and don’t make a fuss,” said I, 
“ your mother wishes it.” 

She wore her obstinate look. “ I shall do nothing of 
the kind,” she answered. 

“ Don’t be a fool, Gertie ; humour her, just for once. 
She’ll make it up if you meet her half-way. Remember 
how useful I shall find her.” 

“ I will have nothing to do with her superstitious ob- 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN . 219 

servances,” she retorted, doggedly ; “lam not a hypo- 
crite.” 

“ Hypocrite, indeed ! there’s no hypocrisy in gratify- 
ing an old lady’s whims, especially when she’s your 
mother. We used to have prayers at home when I 
was a boy. They are capital discipline for the serv- 
ants. Prayers won’t hurt you. Come on.” 

“ I refuse,” she said, sullenly. 

“ Come, to oblige me,” I entreated. 

“.Nothing,” she repeated, “will induce me to play 
the hypocrite.” 

“ No, because you prefer to play the fool.” I felt sav- 
age, but was afraid to show it. Then she stolidly re- 
sumed her note-book, whilst I thought it wise to alter 
my tone. 

“ Well, I’m sorry, Gertrude, you won’t do me a favor ! 
I don’t often ask one.” 

But she remained silently inflexible, and I left her. 

“ Gertrude begs me to ask you to excuse her, Lady 
Marlington. I am very sorry she is so disobedient.” 

“ Why, sir,” she exclaimed, “ did you not order her 
to come ? ” 

“ I did not consider the moment opportune for exert- 
ing authority.” 

Amused interest shone on the faces of the listening 
servants. I fancied I detected a footman winking at a 
housemaid. Here, fortunately, the incident ended, as 
the parliamentary reporters say, hut it was odd that a 
lady who had so vigorously opposed the will of her 
own husband should be a stickler for marital authority 
in the case of her son-in-law. But, there ! you can’t 
account for these things. The Countess opened the 
Bible before her at the nineteenth chapter of Genesis, 
beginning, as she explained, at the seventeenth verse 


‘220 


MR. B ALLEY -M A R TIN. 


with the words Escape for thy life, neither look 
behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain,” and I 
think she much enjoyed the reading herself. When 
that was finished she said “let us pray,” and read a 
strongly-worded appeal to Providence to “ spare us all 
the spiritual dangers of unbelief.” The ceremony was 
a little ragged on the part of the congregation, no doubt 
from want of practice, but the housekeeper, the butler 
and myself endeavoured to give it the heartiness the 
Countess evidently expected. 

I had hoped the Countess would have made some 
more friendly advances when prayers were over but 
she merely bowed and said, “ I wish you good-night, 
sir,” and withdrew. 

Then I went to join Gertrude in the library and per- 
ceived I was in disgrace. 

“ Your mother,” said I maliciously, “has been praying 
at you like a true Christian. I have been greatly 
edified.” 

But Gertrude refused to be amiable, so I retired to 
the smoking-room, told the butler to bring me a whis- 
key and seltzer and smoked comfortably before the fire, 
reading a back-number of the Sporting Times Cissie 
St. Claire had evidently left behind her. 

I had some difficulty in refraining from quarrelling 
with Gertrude that night, for she criticised my conduct 
in a most unwifely manner. Fortunately, I am one of 
those men who can defer their irritation till a suitable 
moment arrives for venting it. As my pious mother- 
in-law had said, this was no time for recriminations. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


The old earl, who could not sleep for ever, recovered 
his wandering senses on the following morning. Sur- 
prised at finding two white-capped nurses in his room, 
he tried to ask them what the deuce they wanted, but 
his speech was too much impeded by the twdst in 
his wicked old mouth to allow him to swear with ease. 

He insisted on seeing his man, who explained what 
had taken place during the interregnum produced by 
his lordship’s seizure. 

When he heard of the invasion of his house by his rela- 
tives he called us “ damned ghouls,” but soon afforded 
convincing proof of his vitality. Though “ it had got 
him all down one side ” as the valet expressed it, the 
noble earl’s seizure had by no means quelled him. 
His first interview was with Lady Marlington. I be- 
lieve the encounter, bitter at first, ended in an armis- 
tice. The undutiful couple agreed that, first of all, 
Gertrude and I must be driven out of the house. 

Lady Marlington came down to the library where 
Gertrude and I were awaiting the course of events with 
the ultimatum. Addressing herself to her daughter, 
and ignoring me, “ Gertrude,” she said, “ your father 
desires me to say that your presence in his house is a 
source of irritation to him, and that his comfort will 
be materially increased by the departure of yourself 
and this young man.” 


221 


222 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN . 


This “ young man,” indeed ! 

This was an unpleasant bomb to explode in our camp, 
but I think the Countess liked firing it, for she added, 
“ Much as I deplore the spirit which prompted your 
father to send this message, as a Christian wife, I con- 
sider it my duty to deliver it.” 

“ First see your father, Gertrude,” I interposed. 

“ Lord Marlington is permitted to see nobody,” re- 
plied the Countess, without looking at me. 

Gertrude was, I perceived, in one of her cold tem- 
pers. She had not recovered from our dispute of the 
previous night. 

“ I have no desire to see my father against his wishes,” 
said she, without raising her voice. “I came here 
from a sense of duty, seeing the rest of the family had 
abandoned him. But as he is well enough to endure 
an interview with you without danger, there can be no 
necessity for us to stay any longer. I regret to say 
there is no place more uncongenial to me than his 
house.” 

“Our visit has been a most unpleasant duty,” 
added I. 

“ I don’t know whether you are aware, Gertrude,” 
said Lady Marlington, “that your father’s paralytic 
seizure is due to the excitement produced by your hus- 
band’s visit ; whose impudence, he declares, was act- 
ually, not figuratively, more than he could endure.” 

“ He called here against my wish,” said Gertrude. 

“I am glad you had no part in half-killing your 
father,” said her mother. 

This was too much. 

“ Pardon me, Lady Marlington, but my conscience 
will not permit these cruel suggestions to pass uncon- 
tradicted. An old gentleman who passes his time in 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


223 


riotous-living with ballet-dancers, need not go far out 
of his way to seek a cause for his illness. But no doubt 
under your care, he will soon be restored to health.” 

My counter-attack exasperated the Countess far more 
than Gertrude’s malignant shafts had done. 

“You will repent the day you married this young 
man,” she said to Gertrude. 

“ It cannot,” she retorted, “ prove more unhappy than 
your marriage with my father.” 

So saying she stalked out of the room. Her mother 
glared after her for a moment, and we were left alone. 
But even in this painful juncture I did not forget my 
duty to the family, but made one more desperate effort 
to wave my olive-branch. 

“ These family dissensions are heart-rending, Lady 
Marlington ! Let us forget and forgive.” 

My voice shook with emotion, but it could not bend 
this Christian lady. 

“My daughter is a heartless atheist, and you a 
scheming hypocrite.” She positively hissed this at me 
as she swept out of the room to bear the news of the 
encounter to the Earl. 

Left on the field of battle, I could not but admit the 
force of circumstances had been against me. My plans 
had been laid on the assumption that Lord Marlington’s 
seizure would reduce him to senile impotency, and 
that we could get over the old lady. But, although we 
were “kicked out” of Righton House, there was no 
reason for saying so. Better for the Marlington family 
if the world thought my wife and I were au mieux with 
my father-in-law. Whether they liked it or not I was 
one of them, and the sympathetic announcement I had 
sent to the newspapers would widely advertise the 
fact. 


224 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


I found Gertrude packing up — I had never seen her 
so savage before. Our previous trifling disputes were, 
a long way off, not unlike the usual quarrels of lovers, 
and spared an excess of bitterness on her side by a 
streak of sentiment, on mine by strong common-sense. 
I knew if my wife ever came to dislike me, she might 
make my existence uncomfortable. I was, therefore, 
scarcely prepared for her attack. It was so fierce and 
voluble that I cannot remember her words, but she 
told me I had humiliated her, and caused her to be 
driven from her father’s house, to be “ turned into the 
street like an impertinent housemaid,” as I think she 
put it. And then what were my motives? They 
were incomprehensible to her, but, so far as she could 
fathom them, utterly contemptible. 

“It is,” she finally said, “a sickening desire of social 
prestige that has made you crawl and eat dirt. In 
future you shall eat it alone; I will not share in the 
loathsome feast. Did I think of social prestige when 
I married you? You married out of your position, 
and you lost your head. It was ambition and vulgar 
social greed that prompted you, and folly and weak- 
ness that deluded me.” 

The scene was a painful one. My nails were pared. 
I dared not retort. To fight it out was impossible. I 
perceived it was best to manoeuvre and to find a 
shield behind my wounded feelings and outraged 
affections. 

When her wrath was sufficiently abated, she threw 
herself in the arm-chair and cried till her eyes were 
sore, and her nose very red. 

A servant knocking at the door, announced that the 
carriage was at the door, and finally we drove away 
without bidding any one good-bye, in humiliation, like 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 225 

a nineteenth century Adam and Eye driven from a 
terrestrial paradise. 

“ I hope you will profit by your lesson,” said Ger- 
trude, as the lodge-gates closed behind us. She looked 
damp and depressed. Grief is unbecoming to all, and 
to faded, ansemic women particularly trying. 

But I held my peace. Suffering silence was my cue. 
But her whining expression inwardly made me swear. 
Would you believe it ! she actually had the audacity to 
read me a lecture. Her indignation, like everything 
else, became coloured by her philosophy. 

My weakness in wishing to belong to the aristocracy, 
she supposed were, after all, atavisms for which I was 
only responsible in a secondary manner. 

But I listened to her rubbish in silence, contenting 
myself with repeating that she misunderstood me. 

Bennett was dying with curiosity to hear all about 
the visit, but I told him, owing to the unexpected im- 
provement in Lord Marlington’s health, and the presence 
of his wife, we had not felt it necessary to prolong our 
stay. I could see he did not believe me, and have no 
doubt the footman told him we had been “ kicked out,” 
for the reason of our sudden departure was not con- 
cealed from the servants. 

Gertrude decided to return to London after lunch, 
an arrangement in which I concurred. 

“ After the bitter things you have said concerning 
my conduct,” I said with dignity, “ a few days apart 
for reflection will be welcome to us both.” 

“ Nothing,” she replied, “will alter my opinion.” 

“ In that case we will not argue about it,” I returned. 

I saw her off, and felt a sense of relief when she was 
gone. I could breathe freely. To stand on very 
shifty ground on the defensive, whilst a philosophic 


226 


ME. BAILEY-MARTIN . 


wife is “ slating ” you because she has been turned out 
of her father’s house on your account is a position 
making tremendous demands on the temper. 

These are the words of her diary : 

“ Turned out of my father’s house ! turned out ! ! 
turned out!!! Scene with Percival in consequence. 
The very servants must have perceived the meanness 
of his motives. He cringed to my mother odiously, 
humoured her effete superstitions, affected to share 
them, submitted to treatment that a footman would 
have resented, and all for what ? To be received on 
terms of equality by people who despise him and whom 
he would despise if they belonged to his own class. It 
is horrible to think the man animated by such instincts 
is my husband. But how far is he answerable for 
them? In another subject the problem would interest 
me. I am beginning to understand him. I told him 
what I thought of it. But he is incapable of appre- 
ciating the nature of his offence.” 

But what is the good of quoting the rubbish ? One 
would think my courageous attempt to reconcile this 
distracted family deserving of some commendation, 
but Gertrude viewed it in much the same light as an 
attempt to pick pockets. No doubt the tone of intel- 
lectual and moral superiority adopted by my wife in the 
passage quoted will be duly appreciated by the readers 
of this autobiography. What eccentric conclusions 
unpracti cable people draw when they criticise the acts 
of those who move in a different and bolder plane ! 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


I had arranged to stay at the White Hart for 
several days, in order to make the acquaintance of the 
leading local politicians. I was new to the work, and 
telegraphed to Jemmie Blake to comedown and join me 
— “ all expenses paid.” 

The little beggar was delighted to come, and cer- 
tainly made himself very useful, and his society was a 
relief after that of my puling wife with her diary, her 
philosophy and her feeble digestion. He brought me 
all the latest news. 

The clubs which knew me, it appears, were talking 
about me. Cissie St. Claire had been telling droll stories 
about my father-in-law, and Jemmie’s “ pars.” concern- 
ing his health had produced a great effect. 

“ You’ll get into the House of Lords,” said Jemmie, 
“ before you’ve done. Pity you can’t succeed to your pa- 
in-law’s title. You’re cut out for a legislator. I’ll re- 
port your speeches. You will rise an’ rise. For, saith 
the wise man, he who hath risen shall yet rise higher.” 

Meanwhile Bennett and other friends, whose support 
had been purchased by various means, had busied 
themselves in Dichester, and had commenced to smooth 
my path before me.” 

The evening following Blake’s arrival I gave a dinner 
to “ some of our leading local politicians,” as Bennett 
called them. “ Leave out the teeto’tlers, sir,” said he, 
“you can try ’em with tea and buns at the little 

227 


228 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


Ebenizer schoolroom. The anti- vaccinators an’ the 
rest can he tackled as convenient.” 

Bennett arranged a dinner for ns. 

At the end of the table opposite me sat his worship 
the mayor, whom we elected chairman. The other 
worthy burgesses came in due order, and the local soli- 
citor destined to be my election agent sat on my right. 
There was, in James Blake’s words, “ no stint of liquor.” 

When the cloth was removed, and the port on the table 
his worship, as previously arranged, addressed us. They 
were all there, he told them, for a purpose — namely — 
to make my acquaintance. Who was 1 ? “ The fav’rite 
son-in-law of his lordship the Earl of Marlington.” 
They had ev’ry man jack of them been touched by my 
manly letter in the Dichester Gazette , and by the feel- 
ing terms of my remarks concerning my afflicted rela- 
tive. There w ere, it is true, dissensions between his lord- 
ship and the town, but, after all, they were of a temp’ry 
character. His lordship had naturally resented the 
election of a man like their present member, Mr. 
Diggs (groans). When put out, the Earl of Marlington 
showed it. How he had showed his indignation he 
need not tell ’em. I had come to them like a dove 
with an olive-branch in my mouth, offering peace. It 
was for me to reconcile the town and the noble Mar- 
lington family. With such a representative as Mr. 
Percival Bailey-Martin, a young politician rapidly 
rising to fame, who was, moreover, the playmate and 
the bosom-friend of Lord Righton, who, in the course 
o’ nature must become associated with the place, to 
whose fair sister I had been so happily married, Dich- 
ester would soon resume the prestige it had lost, so- 
cially and politically, in the country. He wished to pro- 
pose a toast, the health of Mr. Percival Bailey-Martin, 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIX. 


the future member of Dichester, if he (his worship) 
had his way. 

“Port, and plenty of it,” as Blake says, “hath no 
fellow to win a man friends.” My new ones drank my 
health with enthusiasm. 

I rose with the quiet dignity habitual to me and 
made the following speech, in the composition of which 
Blake had co-operated : 

“ Gentlemen, the kind and flattering words of his 
worship the mayor have deeply touched me. This is, 
as you know, a time of affliction for the noble family 
with which I am so closely and happily allied ; and how 
comes it, you may ask, that I am here ? Permit me to 
tell you. Three days ago I discussed the question of 
my candidature for this borough with the Earl of Mar- 
lington. 4 Percival,’ said he, 4 1 wish you to stand for this 
borough. Dichester, to my sorrow, has become alien- 
ated from me, owing to a political accident, and perhaps 
a personal misunderstanding. Humanly speaking, the 
borough must become vacant soon. It is your duty to 
win it back to the noble Liberal principles from which 
it has strayed, and let me once more see a member of 
my family representing it in Parliament.’ My father-in- 
law’s words, gentlemen, filled me with surprise, and 
placed me in some difficulty. I am revealing no secret 
when I tell you certain overtures have been made to 
me with a view to my election for a well-known borough, 
at the present moment as ill-represented as your own. 
The leaders of our party looked on with approval, the 
Premier especially. In fact, gentlemen, I gave a half 
promise. I told Lord Marlington of my position. ‘ I 
cannot,’ said I, 4 stand for two constituencies at once.’ 

< D n it, sir,’ retorted my father-in-law — you know 

his fiery temper, gentlemen, 4 d n it, I’m the head of 


230 


MB. BA1LEY-MABTIK. 


this family, and I order you to stand for Dichester.’ I 
regret to say, gentlemen, that the indignation excited by 
the objection I raised over-excited him, and, to my in- 
finite sorrow, may have provoked the illness we all of us 
so deeply deplore ; as you perceive, gentlemen, there 
was nothing for me to do but obey. The pressing offer 
coming from elsewhere — whence I may not say — I 
rejected at once ; and as I stand before you now in all 
humility, in discharge of a public and private duty, I beg 
to offer myself as your parliamentary candidate at the 
moment the ancient borough becomes vacant. I make 
this offer at the request of some of your leading men, 
gentlemen.” And they said “ hear ! hear ! ” with as 
much unanimity as though they were so many local 
puppets and I had pulled their strings. I then proposed 
the health of his worship the mayor “ a friend whom 
we all loved to honour, and in whose affections I craved 
a place.” 

Then Blake jumped to his feet and delivered himself 
of the speech he had always ready : a little thick in 
utterance at first, and blurred in expression, it grew in 
articulation and eloquence as he proceeded. Dichester, 
he said, had as yet no idea of the grand qualities 
hidden under my frank and unostentatious exterior. 
Although young and comparatively inexperienced, there 
were within me germs of all those seeds from which 
statesmen are made. “ Unaffected patriotism, con- 
fidence in the people, deep-seated belief in the destiny 
of the Liberal party.” On all the great social ques- 
tions, rapidly assuming national importance, he had 
never met a man whose views were more broad or en- 
lightened. Politics, he assured us, were not a bed of 
roses. He who started on the thorny path of public 
life must “scorn delights and live laborious days,” 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


231 


spending his nights in the heated arena of political 
controversy, his days in reflection and study. Now a 
man in my position had every temptation to make his 
life agreeable. 

“The world smiles on Percival Bailey-Martin,” he 
exclaimed, in impassioned tones. “ 4 It is roses, roses, 
all the way,’ with him, a thousand and one pleasant 
things lure him from the rough ways of public life to the 
primrose paths of dalliance and pleasure. The joys of 
home, the joys of society, the joys of art, of foreign 
travel, and of cultured idleness. Siren voices tempt 
him on all sides. But, unlike Ulysses, he has no need to 
stop his ears. They cannot move him. An English- 
man in every cord and fibre of his noble nature, duty, 
gentlemen, is his god ; as, some way after him, I hope 
I may say it is ours. I have watched Percival Bailey- 
Martin’s career from the days of its early promise at 
Oxford till to-day. These weak words of mine are no 
idle eulogy, but the mature judgment of one who, like 
the great Odysseus, may say : 

“ ‘ Much have I seen and known ; cities of men 
And manners, climates, councils, governments.’ 

Yet, gentlemen, I shall see no happier day than that 
on which Percival Bailey-Martin shall represent you in 
parliament.” 

This was the speech of the evening. It only had one 
fault : its eloquence swamped mine. When the party 
separated, the steps of the White Hart seemed un- 
usually steep to some of them. 

The next day I spent, with the assistance of my new 
friends, in visiting the other leading inhabitants of the 
borough. I propitiated the anti- vaccinators, a formi- 
dable clique at Dicliester, by promising to bring in a bill 


232 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


for the suppression of vaccination, and to refrain from 
inoculating my own children with the virus , if Provi- 
dence should provide me with offspring. The Temper- 
ance party would have preferred that I should take 
the pledge myself ; but were mollified by my solemn 
promise to vote for local option in the borough, and to 
subscribe five pounds annually for the construction of 
coffee-taverns. The dissenters were pleased by my 
promise to request my father-in-law to grant them a 
piece of land for the erection of a new chapel ; but they 
were even more gratified by the interesting lecture I 
gave them on the Holy Land, with the aid of a magic 
lantern Blake provided. He also lent me a small 
pamphlet he had prepared on the subject for election- 
eering purposes. The lecture, I assured my hearers, 
was the result of a recent journey I had made in Pales- 
tine. It went off capitally. Blake managed the slides 
so dexterously, that he kept time to my reading, except 
once, when I described “Bethabara beyond Jordan ” 
to a slide representing “ View of Joppa.” The school- 
children and their friends were all delighted with the 
discourse, and the tea and buns I provided afterwards. 
The Rev. John Spong thanked me warmly for the 
improving address I had delivered, and the pleasant 
“ tea ” I had “ so lavishly provided ” ; whilst the fumes 
of that much-stewed beverage arose like the odour of 
sanctity. The children sang “ There is a happy land,” 
as we separated after what his Reverence called a 
“ most enjoyable evening.” 

“ And now,” said Blake, as we left the heated and 
corrugated iron walls of the little Ebenezer school- 
room, “having promised everybody everything, you 
had better cut it early to-morrow, before you have 
time to spoil the good impression we have made.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


Whether the Earl of Marlington ever heard of the 
draughts I had made on our family connection, I never 
knew. The local paper bore some slight traces of the 
political courtship I had commenced to pay to the con- 
stituency ; but although he recovered his strength suf- 
ficiently to go to Cannes a few weeks after without the 
company of his wife, he did not attempt to tell the good 
people of Dichester what he really thought of me. As 
Lady Marlington returned to the musty mansion she 
possessed in Bath, and her husband made his escape to 
the Riviera without her, Gertrude concluded her father’s 
spirit had been little quelled by the attack of paralysis 
that had left its traces behind in a twisted mouth, and 
a dragging leg. Rumour said that although the Earl’s 
memory had become impaired, he had not forgotten to 
dislike his wife. Lord Righton returned on the day 
his father left for Cannes. lie is not the sort of man 
to bear malice, — he is too lazy. He had been spending 
money faster than usual, and when a man stands in 
need of ready cash, as Righton ingenuously remarked, 

“ he cannot afford to be too d d particular about 

his friends.” 

This enabled me to strike a bargain of which I after- 
wards had every reason to be proud. Just before I dis- 
covered my aptitude for a political career, Righton 
started a racing- stable on a small scale, but not a cheap 

• 233 


234 


MB. BAILEY-MABTIN. 


one. One of the first results was an urgent need of 
money. I lent him a thousand pounds, at the rate of 
ten per cent., payable when he should come into the 
title and on the understanding, in writing, that he 
should favour my candidature at Dicliester. The Earl- 
dom of Marlington was now indebted to us to a con- 
siderable extent, and there was only the life of a 
tottering old paralytic between us and the liquidation 
of the debt. 

Consequently Jemmie Blake, the magic lantern, and 
1 made several visits to Dichester, and our entertain- 
ments at the parochial rooms and the lectures I de- 
livered before the local branch of the Young Men’s 
Christian Association became important features dur- 
ing the winter. The only disappointment was that 
Diggs would neither die nor resign. 

Meanwhile Gertrude and I had settled down into a 
life of some order and routine. She passed her time in 
writing her book “ on Conduct,” which had assumed a 
somewhat circular course, and, to her surprise and 
discomfiture, continually reverted to the same point. 
You have heard how the unskilled traveller who has 
lost his way in the desert unconsciously describes a 
circle in his wanderings. In the metaphysical wilder- 
ness where my wife was straying the same phenome- 
non occurred, and she frequently found herself proving 
over again that which she had already demonstrated. 
At first she used to bore me a good deal by asking my 
advice, but I persuaded her it would be much better to 
let me see her book when it was complete instead of 
in fragments perpetually altering. Consequently to a 
very considerable extent she went her way, I mine. 
Mine was not unpleasant. I used to hear her sigh a 
good deal, and her diary bore evidence that she con- 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


235 


sidered herself neglected ; but as she had no visible 
cause of jealousy she accepted the state of things. 
“ You have your studies,” I used to say, “ I, my occupa- 
tions, it would be ridiculous for us to drive about to- 
gether in your victoria — like twins in a perambulator.” 
Thus I continued to enjoy a good many of the de- 
lights usually reserved for bachelors. 

May found us in much the same position as Novem- 
ber, except that I had endeared myself to the inhab- 
itants of Dichester with the aid of Righton, Jemmie 
Blake and the magic lantern. The town was convinced 
I could get Righton to do anything, and it was accepted 
as a fact that if I were returned he would present the 
town with an eligible piece of land to be laid out as a 
recreation ground. 

Meanwhile the present member was sunning himself 
at Brighton in a bath-chair. 

“ In a Brighton Bath Chair, 

In a Brighton Bath Chair, 

Our eminent member is slumbering there ; 

Though feeble and dull, for we can’t be all clever, 

Our eminent member shan’t slumber for ever. 

Why don’t he resign ? 

For our member don’t shine ! 

Dichester says ‘ he’s no member of mine.’ ” 

Blake set these words, which were printed in the 
local paper, to a popular tune. The street boys sang 
it on market days, when the delicate satire was keenly 
appreciated by the farmers. The rival print criticised 
it as “ execrable in taste, and too contemptible to de- 
serve even the epithet of doggerel.” 

The Primrose League tried to set a song going in 
answer, called, “ You’ve only got to ask and you’ll get 
it,” referring to the lavish nature of my promises, but 


236 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIX. 


although sung on a platform by the daughter of a 
rural dean, the steeple of whose church Mr. Diggs had 
built at his own expense, it lacked spontaneity and 
never “ caught on.” 

I have reason to remember that summer, because 
Gertrude had arranged that Mrs. Mimi Todd should 
stay with us. To this I had looked forward with some 
interest, and Gertrude, who ardently desired an intel- 
ligent listener for “ The Evolution of Conduct,” wel- 
comed her. 

Mimi arrived with an immense number of costumes 
and an unabated desire for philosophy. The morn- 
ings she and my wife spent over manuscripts in my 
wife’s study, which I rarely invaded, but fate willed it 
that in the afternoon and sometimes in the evening I 
should be her companion. As you will have observed, 
I have made it a point to say nothing dishonourable 
about women. Now, all of us have our weaknesses. 
Mimi was like the rest of us. She was naturally de- 
sirous of seeing London life. No man in London was 
better qualified to show her than I. I took her to 
Hurlingham and Sandown. I conducted her to the 
theatres, all to please my wife, who deems such amuse- 
ments barbarous and detests racketting of all sorts. 
Now, I ask you if it was my fault if Mimi lost her head 
a little ? The nature of young men and women being 
what it is — imperfect, Gertrude should have been more 
discreet than to throw us so much together. I think 
it was owing to Gertrude’s Scotch maid, who hated me 
and took an aversion to Mimi, that the row came at 
last. 

Before either Mimi or I suspected it, Gertrude became 
jealous and tortured herself as only foolish women 
can. Clarkson, the Scotch maid, acted as a sort of 


MR. BAILE Y-MAR TIN. 


237 


spy, and, whilst little Mimi and I were disporting our- 
selves, innocently flapping our wings together in the 
sunshine like butterflies in unsuspicious satisfaction — 
nothing more — suddenly the storm broke. 

I dwell on these details regretfully, passing over 
them as quickly as possible, because I know they put 
my wife in an odious light. 

Mimi spent three weeks with us, and we introduced 
her to our friends. Amongst the men she became rap- 
idly popular and, I think, enjoyed her triumph. The 
women said she was “ dreadfully American.” When 
she left us she took rooms at the Grand and began, after 
the manner of her kind, to frankly enjoy herself, Silas 
keeping her generously supplied with funds, and I 
providing her with amusements. 

Now, I do not pretend that Mimi did not exert a sort 
of fascination over me. Her influence which had com- 
menced at Chamonix, I confess, increased. Gertrude’s 
nature and mine, unfortunately, widely diverged. 
Indeed, it was good for neither of us to be too much 
together. The pale languor of her philosophy did not 
always harmonise with the warmth, colour, and full- 
blooded vigour of mine. Now Gertrude’s attractions 
w r ere of purely an intellectual order, and there are mo- 
ments when these do not suffice a man. On hot June 
days, for instance, when the rose scents are too heavy 
for the soft winds to carry, one wants something more 
than philosophy in a woman. 

Here were the hot June noons, the rose-gardens, the 
trees in full leaf, and I knew a certain nook on the river, 
but an hour’s journey from Paddington Station, where 
June is sweetest, where the lawn, rose-spotted and 
odorous, slopes down to the idly lapping waters, where 
the nightingale sings, and the hay smells like heaven. 


288 


MR. BAILS Y-MAR TIN. 


An Eden for any man who knows an Eve to haunt 
it. 

I had painted this spot to Mimi in such flowing colours 
that at last she consented to visit it with me. Now of 
course you will say I ought to have told my wife of 
this trip. Well, I did not. Somehow, thanks to Clark- 
son, she had become jealous. Mimi had at last per- 
ceived it and was amused — on account, of course, of 
its utter groundlessness, — I had perceived it, too, and 
did not wish it to extend. So I did not tell Gertrude 
of the innocent little jaunt. There are some things per- 
fectly blameless in themselves that the world regards 
with suspicion. My trip up the river with Mimi is 
one of them. It was with difficulty I induced her to 
consent to it, but one evening when I was seeing her 
back to her hotel from a theatre she consented. Ah 
me ! I recall that drive now, the little fingers clasped 
in mine, and a fluttering confession that I will never 
reveal. 

Well, on the day I took Mimi up the river I informed 
my wife that I was going down to Dichester on business 
— and that I should not be back till the following day. 
— You will not misunderstand my motives. I only de- 
sired to spare my wife pain. The deceit that is the re- 
sult of anxiety for the feelings of others is to my mind 
not remotely removed from the virtues. 

There are, too, other duties besides those we owe to 
our wives. Something was due to myself, much to 
Mimi, who had commenced by mistrusting me and 
ended in numbering me amongst the nearest of her 
friends. Her reputation, moreover, was dearer to me 
than my own ; nor could a censorious world be taken 
into our confidence without an appalling misunder- 
standing. 


MR. BA 1LE Y-MA 11 TIN. 


239 


0 happy day ! thrice happy day ! we are at the Great 
Western Terminus, alone in a reserved carriage ; we 
start, and the fast train whirls us through the country 
where the mowers are busy in the sunshine. Then the 
long dreamy afternoon in the boat, the evening in the 
rose-garden, a gentle idyl far from suspicious Gor- 
dons, made beautiful by mutual confidence and trust. 
I admit I was as near loving Mimi as our obligations 
would allow. ******** 

But then what a sudden change from this happi- 
ness ! 

1 reached home an hour before dinner-time and was 
about to tell Gertrude the news from Dichester, how 
I had lectured on the economy of jam-making at the 
Parochial rooms! when her expression stopped my 
tongue. 

Her bloodless face was whiter than wax, her pale 
eyes, surrounded by an aureole of suffering and sleep- 
lessness, shone with a strange expression. 

“ What, Gertie,” said I, “ you don’t look well — the 
heat, I suppose,” and I held out my hand affectionately 
towards her. 

“ Don’t touch me,” she cried, like the injured maiden 
in a melodrama. 

“ Why, what’s the row ? ” I said, nervously. 

“ Where have you been ? ” 

“ To Dichester, of course.” 

“ Hypocrite ! liar ! traitor ! s-seducer ! ” 

My wife seemed hissing at me. We stared at one 
another a moment ; I, with a sense of things crumbling 
about me. 

“What do you mean, Gertrude ? ” 

“ You have been away with that American woman. 
Here is her letter.” 


240 


Mil. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


She flung it to me. I had left it in my writing-case, 
and she had forced it open. Mimi wrote : 

“ Yes, I will come. Paddington, 10:30. Why struggle 
against the inevitable ? This is your philosophy. Now 
hear mine. 


“ ‘ Tliou art a man, 

But I am thy love, 

For the lake its swan, 

For the dell its dove ; 

And for thee — (oh haste !) 

Me, to bend above, 

Me, to hold embraced ! ’ ” 

I saw it all ! The infernal Scotchwoman had read 
this in my pocket. Gertrude had broken open my 
writing-desk in the hope of finding it. 

“ I don’t know what it means. Mrs. Todd’s mad,” 
said I, feebly enough. “ All Boston ladies write poetry.” 

But she threw me the following telegram from 
Bennett: 

“ Mr. Bailey-Martin is not at Dichester, nor is he 
expected.” 

“ Well, Gertrude,” said I, after a long pause, “ it is of 
no use telling lies. I confess I was with Mrs. Todd, but 
there was a party of us. I didn’t tell you, because I 
fancied you were doing me the honour to be jealous, 
and ” 

But she cut me short. 

“ Either you or I leave this house at once.” 

“ You are mad ! Fancy the scandal.” 

“ That means you will not go.” 

“ That would be a confession of guilt. I’m innocent, 
I swear I am, so is Mimi. She adores you.” 

But she flung out of the room, and had a violent fit 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


241 


of hysterics in her bedroom, behind the bolted door. 
Then at last, when her maid had soothed her, they 
packed up, and a cab was sent for. 

I was in the library, endeavouring to make up my 
mind how best to act. Hearing Clarkson coming down- 
stairs, I ran out and seized her and dragged her by her 
wrists into the room, rather because I hated her than 
for anything else. I cannot remember what I said, but 
although she turned very white, she boldly faced me. 

“ You have been deceiving my poor mistress, and 
she’ll never be happy till she has a separation. The 
law will give her one, too. Let go of my wrists, sir, 
or I’ll cry ‘ police.’ ” 

I let her go and ran upstairs to Gertrude. 

“ Don’t speak to me,” she cried, “ you shall hear from 
my lawyer.” 

I threw myself on my knees before her, entreating 
forgiveness. All the house was in an uproar, the serv- 
ants listening from the foot of the stairs. She was 
obdurate. I had deceived her, and she would apply for 
a separation. 

And at last she drove away to a neighbouring hotel. 

The scandal of a suit in the divorce court would kill 
me, socially and politically. Here was a doleful end to 
the schemes* I had been building up with so much 
care ! It was too horrible to face. How was this big 
domestic breach to be mended ? 

I called the servants up, and assured them it was 
merely a temporary misunderstanding between Lady 
Gertrude and myself ; but they evidently were inclined 
to take her side, and if ever subpoenaed in any litigation 
that might arise, I felt that they would not be on 
mine. 

There was nothing to be done that night. For once, 
16 


242 


MR. BAILE Y-MA R TIN. 


I confess, I drowned care in wine. I went to the Scalp 
Hunters’ and drank two bottles of champagne, and re- 
turned home in the morning sun, dizzy and blinking, to 
sleep through a series of horrible nightmares, to awake 
to gaze on the ruins a cursed accident had created 
around me. It was all very much like a bachelor de- 
bauch, plus a ton of care. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


And what will not a jealous woman do ? I recalled, 
with a sinking heart, all I had ever read concerning 
them, from Dido downwards. Jealousy is a horrible, 
unreasoning, barbarous instinct and unspeakably vulgar. 
I was never jealous in my life. When the faintest spark 
of it ever glimmered within me I always quenched it. 
The enemy of human peace, the destroyer of dignity, 
its existence is evidence of the degrading selfishness of 
the human heart and not of the affections. It dwells, 
too, in strange places. Cold, philosophic, psychological 
Gertrude, whose investigation into the springs and 
motives of human conduct should have built a dam 
against it, had allowed herself to be swept away by the 
venomous sentiment as though she were a common 
factory-girl with no other guide than animal passion. 
Bah ! it is this sort of thing that prompts a woman to 
fling vitriol over a man. The only difference is that 
Gertrude’s vitriol would be thrown by her lawyers. I 
smarted at the bare thought of it. Already in imagina- 
tion I heard the paper boys howling “ The Bailey-Martin 
Scandal — shocking revelations ! ” about the streets and 
my heart sickened at the prospect. But something 
must be done. Righton was in town. I might perhaps 
induce him to act as a mediator. 

I found him at his rooms off Piccadilly, and told him 
of the horrible calamity that had befallen me. “ I’m 

243 


244 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


innocent, Rigliton, I swear I am,” I said, emphatically, 
“but appearances are dreadfully against me.” 

“ Innocent, you dear lamb,” said Righton, to my 
great disgust, laughing coarsely; “who’d ever suspect 
you ! Not your dear friends at Dichester, with your 
charmin’ lectures to the school-children about the 
Holy Land. Bailey-Martin caught trippin’ ? — nonsense ! 
Why, they’ve published a long account of your virtues 
in the Parish Magazine.” 

“ But you believe in my innocence ? ” 

“ Ray-ther,” said my brother-in-law, with atrocious 
vulgai 'ty, closing one green globular eye and laughing 
lewdly through the other. “ And there’s that pretty 
little lively grass widow of a Yankee, who’d suspect 
her ? Human nature ain’t suspicious.” 

But I entreated him to take a more serious view of 
it. Fancy the horrors of an exposure. 

“Well, they won’t hurt my family, at all events,” 
said he. “ My gov’nor’s held in such estimation by the 
world, his noble name can’t be damaged. Besides, I 
don’t care a tinker’s cuss what the newspaper chaps 
say. Great Scott ! won’t they have a fine time of it. 
They’ll wire the whole thing to the States, and the 
papers there will just ‘ bust’ with the fun. When I was 
over there they offered me a hundred dollars for an in- 
terview which I pocketed and they stuck down any rot 
they liked. When they hear I’m your brother-in-law 
they’ll offer me double. ‘ Always believed in Martin’s 
innocence,’ I’ll say, ‘ but appearances awfully against 
him.’ ” 

Whilst Righton was maliciously talking at me I 
walked up and down the room with a mad desire to 
throttle him. “ I appeal to you to help me, Righton,” 
I said at last, helplessly, “ and, there’s only one way.” 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


245 


“ What’s that ? ” 

“ Tell Gertrude for the honour of the family she must 
make it up.” 

“ The honour of the family be bio wed, she’ll say. ‘ How 
about my outraged feelings?’ He! he! he! fancy 
Gertrude’s outraged feelings. What’s the good of tell- 
ing her you and the little Yankee girl are a couple o’ 
saints, when she’s made up her mind you ain’t ? The 
straight tip is, never interfere between man and wife. 
That’s my line o’ country, an’ always has been ! ” 

Then out of the darkness a ray of hope dawned on 
me. 

“You can save me if you will, High ton. Tell Ger- 
trude you were down at that place, and that there were 
a party of us.” 

“Impossible! Tell a lie? I draw the line at lies, 
old chap ; I won’t even tell a lie in jest.” 

“ A lie ! my dear Righton, it will be a splendid piece 
of devotion.” 

I am almost ashamed to tell what occurred next, but 
my brother-in-law promised he would tell Gertie the big- 
gest lie I could invent if I would give him a receipt in 
full for the thousand pounds he had recently borrowed. 
What could I do! My duty was plain. Gertrude’s 
happiness must be restored at any price. If she ob- 
tained a decree of separation her happiness and my 
future would alike be irretrievably damaged. 

My brother-in-law tempted me, and I, sorely tried, 
fell. 

As the thing had to be done, base as it was, I per- 
ceived it must be put on a business footing. 

“But look here, Martin,” said Righton, “although 
to oblige you and to wipe out some obligations between 
us, I’ll tell Gertie a cock-and-bull story about there 


*24l> 


MR. RAIL EY-MARTIN. 


being a party, I won’t perjure myself in the witness 
box if she persists in her action.” 

“ Make her believe there’s not a scrap of evidence 
against me; get her to promise to forego all actions 
against me in the Courts ; entreat her to be reconciled, 
and the debt’s cancelled,” said I ; and I blush to record 
the humiliating fact. 

Then — for Righton has no imagination — I invented 
a plausible story, giving the names of various persons 
who were present, and pointing out the absurdity of 
suspecting a lady of Mimi’s exalted virtue of any devia- 
tion from the paths of rectitude. 

Righton entered into the spirit of the thing with 
more intelligence than you would have suspected, and 
drove off on his errand of diplomacy looking very 
knowing. 

Then I went to see Mimi Todd. 

She did not commence by being hysterical ; but all 
the colour faded from her face, showing the delicate 
skill of her make-up to perfection. 

“If poor Silas hears of it,” she said, “it will just kill 
him. He’s worth ten of you ; what a fool I have 
made of myself ! ” 

Then she commenced to upbraid me for the muddle 
I had made. 

I feared she might propose a flight to the land of her 
birth, with a rearrangement of the marriage bond, and 
desired to forestall her. Then I told her that Lord 
Righton was so fully convinced of the groundlessness 
of Gertrude’s jealousy, that he would insist on his sis- 
ter withdrawing the charge she had made against us, 
that no one would know it had ever been made, and 
that in a day or two all would be as it had been be- 
fore. But she could help. Then Mimi actually began 


MR. B A IL K Y-M A R T1X. 


247 


to enjoy the intrigue, for it is, I believe, Tennyson who 
says “ Every woman is a rake at heart,” and sat down 
and wrote the following indignant note : 

‘ ‘ I have heard of the horrible charges brought against me. They 
are as base as they can easily be proved to be false. That they 
should have been made by the one woman I most respected, will 
ever be remembered by me with infinite pain. Henceforward, I 
shall never cross the path of you or your husband, but returning 
to my own country, shall for the rest of my life recall this insult 
with indignation. You, who have lived all your life in the 
clouds, cannot understand the difference between freedom and 
light raillery, and an offence of which I burn with shame to think. 

“ M. A. Todd.’* 

Mimi’s guileless epistle I posted myself, and then 
going to the Club, I wrote Gertrude a pathetic appeal 
to return to the home she had abandoned. 

“ I cannot stay,” I wrote, “ in your house, unless I 
can call it our home. My offending presence shall, at 
all events, be no blight on your happiness. Return to 
the hearth you have left desolate. I go to my father’s 
to trouble you no more unless you bid me come. You 
will receive ere this, convincing proof of my innocence, 
not of my discretion. Let the painful incident be hence- 
forth a closed passage in our lives. Perhaps when we 
have had time to think, we may resume the happy life 
— for whatever yours may have been, mine certainly 
was happy — now drifting away from us.” 

I need not explain my reasons for leaving my wife’s 
house, for I know every honourable man will understand 
them, and if chance should bring these poor confessions 
of mine into baser hands that may judge meanly of me, 
I can accept their blame with as much indifference as 
their praise. My position was delicate. I had to do 


248 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


justice impartially to Gertrude, Mimi, the Marlington 
family, my future constituents, and myself. No one 
can criticise my acts, who does not sympathize with 
my position. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


There is no place in this autobiography for other 
people’s biographies, and engaged amongst scenes and 
places of greater interest than those surrounding my 
father’s home, there has been no reason to refer to my 
own family. They had naturally been dazzled by my 
successes in society, but my political prospects had 
still more impressed them. A Conservative himself, 
my father had recognized my wisdom in adopting the 
politics of the family into which I had married. 

“ Why should not a man,” he asked, “ serve his coun- 
try and Queen as efficiently on one side as the other ? ” 
Why not indeed ? Only he used to say, “ Steer free 
of socialism. Socialism’s all right for amateurs like 
Lady Gertrude, my daughter-in-law, but the country 
won’t stand it. Socialism’s a blight.” 

When he spoke of socialism, as he frequently did, I 
think he had a picture of the “ Oloptic ” sharing the 
large profits of the business between the employes, 
leaving a one-thousandth share to himself. 

On the domestic scene at Surbiton I arrived at din- 
ner-time with my portmanteau and my grief. One 
reason of my visit was to be out of pretty Mimi’s way 
for a time. To have had my name coupled with hers 
at such a moment would have been fatal. To go 
home for consolation under such circumstances looked 
well. Does the unfaithful man, I ask you, ever go to 

249 


250 


MR. BAILEY-3IARTIN. 


his mother, to hang about her apron-string, when his 
wife refuses to live with him ? Never. That I should 
have sought comfort at home, will, I doubt not, per- 
suade all right-feeling people of the groundless nature 
of my wife’s suspicions. That man I count amongst 
the basest of hypocrites, who conceals his mean offences 
in the sanctity of his home. 

I forgot to say that my sister Florence had arrived 
from India with her little boy, now six months old, 
two days before the quarrel with Gertrude. 

How could I have looked in on that charming scene, 
without appalling pangs of conscience, if I had been 
the guilty wretch my wife believed ? 

But a rocket bursting in the family circle could not 
have produced a more painful surprise than my an- 
nouncement. 

“ My daughter-in-law, Lady Gertrude, left her 
house ! ” exclaimed my father. “ She must be mad! ” 

“ Or jealous ! ” cried my mother. “ I was never 
jealous in my life.” 

“ It appears I have come in time for a family sensa- 
tion,” said Florence. “ But women are not generally 
jealous without a cause.” 

If this tiresome and dangerous business could only 
be got over, how careful, 1 promised myself, I would be 
in future. In the present day, no latitude in morals 
whatever is allowed a politician, and a parliamentary 
candidate whose character for marital fidelity has been 
forfeited has no chance of election. 

But, thank goodness, my worst fears were allayed 
next morning by a letter from Gertrude. Rigliton’s 
intervention, although purchased at an exorbitant 
rate, was not without effect. 

u It is,” she wrote, “ impossible for a wife to live in 


MR. BA ILK Y-MARTIN. 


251 


harmony with her husband in such an atmosphere of 
suspicion and deceit as that in which you have lately 
wrapped yourself. I can no longer trust you. During 
the last six weeks of my life, I have been most miser- 
able. The more I grow to understand you, the more 
impossible I feel it to be for us to live happily under 
the' same roof. — For the present, I shall stay where I 
am. My brother’s excuses for you, show you to have 
been utterly regardless of my feelings. Even if your 
conduct has not given me any legal right to a judicial 
separation, it has offered me a moral one.” 

Here the letter ended. The lawyers were not to 
have a hand in our affairs this time. But I had a char- 
acter to keep up. Now in England, some positions re- 
quire peculiar moral attributes or the appearance of 
them. A little irregularity, if not expected, is certainly 
condoned in the peerage. But virtue, the raw material 
of virtue, must cling like a garment to all parliament- 
ary candidates for such boroughs as Dichester. The 
bare suspicion that my wife refused to live with me 
would lose me a heap of votes. It was quite possible 
some of my future constituents would demand a public 
explanation. Oh, the perversity of women ! My wife, 
who was to be my political support, threatened to be 
my destruction. 

A month passed by, leaving the matter in the same 
position, except that my wife returned to her house. 
She refused to live with me, however, with a capricious 
obstinacy that galled me. My mother was so hurt by 
this treatment of her son, that she wanted to give 
Gertrude “a piece of her mind,” but desisted under 
the joint influence of Florence and myself. 

But the sudden death of Mr. Diggs brought matters 
to a crisis. 


252 


MB. BAILEY-MABTIX. 


Dichester was vacant at last. 

When I received a telegram from my agent an- 
nouncing the fact, I became quite dizzy with excite- 
ment. Young, sanguine, eager to serve my country 
and make a worthy place for myself in the world, I 
perceived my chance had come. 

There was not a weak point in my armour, except 
Gertrude. What would happen unless she consented 
to help me fight ? The moral weight of magic-lantern 
slides, of lectures in the Sunday-school on the Holy 
Land, of reeking tea-fights in stuffy, corrugated iron- 
roofed Ebenezers, do not compensate for separation 
from a wife. “ O, my ! bin married a year, an’ his wife 
won’t live with ’im,” said a voice in my dreams, for in 
dreams it was continually election-day. But to drive 
in state beside an Earl’s daughter of tremendous radical 
tendencies, the picture of married happiness and sym- 
pathy, would gain me more votes than the support of 
all the local optionists and anti- vaccinationists in the 
borough. 

Bennett and his wife would go against me, if Ger- 
trude persisted in her undutiful conduct. Our separa- 
tion could not be concealed. The Primrose dames 
would find out all about it, and tell the women in the 
place not to leave me with their daughters ! Just think 
of it ! Here was a tremendous punishment for a tri- 
fling offence. But I guessed what it was — that con- 
founded, raw-boned Scotchwoman, Clarkson, regaling 
her mistress with all manner of scandalous tales about 
me. You know the sort of thing servants pick up. 
The wicked woman carefully fanned the fires of jeal- 
ousy in my poor wife’s heart, and hardened her against 
me. “ Don’t live with him again, my lady, or you’ll rue 
the day. He cannot be trusted.” This I learned 


MR. BA 1LE Y-MA R TIN. 


253 


afterwards. To all young men I would say, “ Beware 
of your wife’s maid.” And yet Gertrude believed in 
the fidelity of this monster. 

It was at this juncture I induced Florence to help 
me. She held that, when a woman has married a man 
she should make the best of him. 

Her only weak point was an implicit faith in her 
own husband, to whom, I fancy, she was continually 
comparing other men, myself included, to their disad- 
vantage. But how far nobler this than Gertrude’s de- 
grading suspicions ! Bah ! all men — I mean all men not 
exceptionally vicious — are alike, although all have not 
equal powers of convincing their wives of their superi- 
ority to the rest of the world. 

Florence alone of my family recognised my dilemma. 
My father argued that the world had no right to in- 
quire into the private affairs of a public man, so long 
as he kept out of the bankruptcy court ; my mother 
declared so long as one was innocent, and of a clear 
conscience, one need fear nothing. I cannot quite re- 
member what Robert said, nor is his wisdom worth 
recording ; but I think it amounted to this : private 
scandal can always be prevented from becoming a 
public one by the dexterous use of hush-money with 
the newspapers. Poor Bob! he little knew the dig- 
nity and untiring energy of the London press. As if 
any power on earth could stop all the pens of all the 
paragraphers ! You will perceive that before old 
Digges “ passed away,” as the obituary writers politely 
called it, the situation had been discussed at home. 
This event rendered prompt action necessary, espe- 
cially as a Conservative candidate was expected in the 
field. 

I telegraphed to Gertrude. “ Digges dead — need 


254 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


your help. Shall I come to see you ? ” but received no 
answer. 

Her silence made me savage. 

Here was a whole career risking spoiling because a 
silly woman was sulky and jealous. 

“Go up and see your wife,” said Florence. “She 
will listen to reason.” 

“ I daren’t,” I said. “ Her exasperating conduct sends 
me half mad. We shall only quarrel. Go and see her 
yourself, Florence, and mind you swear I am devoted 
to her, heart-broken at her treatment of me, and all the 
rest of it.” 

The end of it was Florence went up to town as a 
peacemaker, and came back persuaded Gertrude was 
unkindly treated. But I always cared much more for 
Florence than she ever did for me, and if Lambert and 
she had quarrelled, under any circumstances, I should 
have been on her side. How much more generous 
men are in these things ! But a sister’s opinion of her 
brother is rarely a matter of importance. 

As a diplomatist Florence was a success. She 
brought the following letter: “I have thought the 
matter over, and will help you to the best of my power, 
and will accompany you and your sister to Dichester 
to-morrow.” 

“You, Florence ! ” I exclaimed in delight and wonder. 
“ What does she want you for ? ” 

“ She refuses to go unless I come too.” 

Mortifying this. 

“Why?” 

“ Because she thinks I shall keep you apart.” 

Florence gave me a look that I understood. I saw it 
was wiser to ask no more questions. As a proof of the 
absolute candour of this autobiography I here trail- 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 255 

scribe from my wife’s diary the morbid account she her- 
self wrote of the meeting. 

“His sister called to see me. In physical beauty 
they resemble one another, but of the shifty, ill-con- 
cealed sensualism of the man there is no trace in the 
woman. This may frequently be observed in men and 
women of the same family. How far does heredity 
account for it ? What is the influence of sex on char- 
acter ? ” Gertrude here makes some conjectures on the 
subject, which I pass over. 

“Mrs. Lambert,” she continued, “ apologised for com- 
ing to see me. 4 There was,’ she said, 4 no other 
means. Time was pressing, and it was either a ques- 
tion of Percival Avithdrawing, or of reconciliation with 
me.’ 4 Your brother has an undeveloped conscience,’ I 
said ; 4 he cannot be trusted.’ 

“ 4 1 admit what you say,’ she replied. 4 Ever since 
Percival was a little boy he has been shamelessly self- 
ish. But by arresting his chances now you Avill only 
make him idle, and, I fear, dissolute. Work might save 
him. You alone can help him. It pains me to say so, 
but my brother is one of those men a woman must 
make the best of.’ 

44 1 understood her meaning. She meant that, having 
been mad enough to marry him, it Avas my duty to help 
him if I could. Percival possesses a certain superficial 
cleverness, inherited frequently by the middle-classes. 
The House of Commons, as at present constituted, is 
the best ground for this quality to be exercised. At 
times, I believe, he dimly sees into that world of ideas 
detested by his class. If he is destitute of idealism, he 
is without superstition. He respects nothing but suc- 
cess, fears nothing but poverty. So far I have not 
elevated him. But if he become absorbed in the Avorld 


256 


MB. BAILEY-MA B TIN. 


of political activity lie would need my help. This is 
my only hold over him, and induced me to consent to 
live with him again. The other motives urging me to 
reconciliation are too unworthy for me to write even 
here. But that I might not let him think I had for- 
gotten or forgiven his meanness I stipulated that Mrs. 
Lambert should accompany us to Dichester on the 
electoral campaign. It would, I thought, be interesting 
to watch Percival under his sister’s eye. I like her so 
far. Shall I be disappointed in her as I am in every 
one else? Percival must understand the election 
expenses are to be paid by himself.” 

But, enough of Gertrude’s diary. 

“ Election expenses to be paid by himself.” 

Here the mesquin nature of my wife is manifested. 
She plays the femme incomprise in her diary to her 
own admiration, and then notes down that I drank six 
bottles of champagne in the week at ten and sixpence 
a bottle ! Ah ! my lady, if I had kept a diary about you 
and your intellectual vapou rings and affectations you 
would have borne a very different character to that 
assumed in your own. Gertrude’s luxury was to pose 
in her own diary to herself. Some women admire 
themselves in their looking-glass. This clasped, lined 
volume of neatly- written manuscript was Gertrude’s 
distorted mirror. You have just seen how it mis- 
represented me : a practical upright man of the world 
appears in it as a bloated, selfish sensualist. But what 
the deuce did my sister mean by accepting the picture 
as a right one ? In heart she had never forgiven me 
for the harmless little boyish flirtation with Edith 
Lyall. 

Edith Lyall, indeed! now a fat woman with three 
babies nearly the same age to the male eye. 


Mli. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


257 


“ Let bygones be bygones, Gertie,” said I in my heart- 
iest manner when I went back to Kensington with my 
sister to act as policeman. 

“When things have passed,” replied she, through 
sour and unrelenting lips, “they become parts of the 
memory, that is all.” 

But it was as hopeless for me to endeavour to soften 
my wife’s obdurate nature as to thaw a ton of ice by 
breathing on it. I had not been five minutes in the 
house before she had taught me the place I was to occupy 
in it. It struck me as comic. She intended to play the 
part of the married heroine in a silent tragedy. Plenty 
of novels have been founded on the outward concord 
but secret disunion of married couples. Gertrude had 
tried me before her own secret tribunal and divorced 
me. I laughed to myself when I went to my own room 
to dress for dinner. Passing the grim-faced Clarkson, 
we exchanged a scowl. 

Florence was certainly a godsend. Gertrude and I 
could not possibly have dined opposite one another 
without quarrelling. Whenever I made a remark I felt 
my wife was weighing it with critical animosity. She 
did not address a single word directly to me. She 
looked frailer and more bloodless than ever, almost 
ghostlike before the rich, rounded beauty of Florence. 
Strangely enough, the two women, apparently so dis- 
similar, appeared drawn to one another. It may be 
there exists between women a sort of freemasonry a 
man cannot understand ; but my sister’s clear eyes soft- 
ened when they met Gertrude’s pale myopic glance 
under the gold rims of the eternal pince-nez. We were 
to start for Dichester at eleven o’clock next morning. 
The ladies were to help me canvass. Florence was 
delighted at the prospect of the election. When I 


258 


MB. BAILEY-21 A B TIN. 


talked about my constituents I could see the unuttered 
mirth on her face. 

“ The idea of your brother becoming a politician,” 
said I, “ seems a good joke to you.” 

“ I have seen so many strange things in India,” she 
answered, “ that even that does not surprise me.” 

Jernmie Blake, who was to go down to Dichester with 
us, came in soon after, in a rather dirty shirt-front and 
a dress-coat with a frayed silk lining. “ I’ve got a new 
bag of tricks to fetch ’em,” he said, eagerly. “ No more 
rubbish about the Holy Land, but the neatest little 
lecture on Tory blunders that was ever knocked to- 
gether ! ” 

Then he told Florence a number of stories, she thought 
funny, about our lectures, “ with all the deacons, elders, 
and Sunday-school teachers hanging on your brother’s 
words, Mrs. Lambert! The show was so pious and 
popular that your brother’s been re-cliristened ‘Magic- 
lantern Martin.’ But let them laugh that win, we’ve 
got all the dissenters, street-preachers, anti-vacci- 
nators, publicans, teetotallers, on our side. When we 
can’t swallow a fad, we just promise to study the ques- 
tion. If there was a party at Dichester devoted to the 
belief the earth was flat we should have quite an ‘ open 
mind ’on the subject, and admit the other chaps who be- 
lieved in the spherical tradition were quite intolerant. 
Your brother, my dear Mrs. Lambert, is cut out for pub- 
lic life. Not a ha’puth of bigotry in his composition, 
He’ll pick up political conviction in the House.” 

And, whilst Jernmie rattled off his nonsense in the 
drawing-room, Gertrude looked on grimly in silence. 
She had heard nothing of the magic-lantern lectures in 
the dissenting schoolroom. 

“ You have enlightened my mind wonderfully on the 


MR. BAILEY-MA E TIN. 


259 


qualifications of a candidate,” said Florence. “My 
brother possesses great natural advantages for the 
part.” 

But fearing her satire might make me loom un- 
pleasantly before the jaundiced eyes of my wife, she 
stopped and said, “ But Mr. Blake is a comic historian.” 

“ Take care, Blake, you will make the ladies believe 
I’m a humbug,” said I, somewhat annoyed. “ If you 
tell them I’m a conscienceless weathercock they’ll turn 
Tory.” 

But still my wife said nothing. 

But the “ liberal hundred ” were to call on me at the 
White Hart next day to ask me officially to contest 
the borough ; so I retired with Blake to the library to 
scheme the part I was to play. 

When I had been sufficiently coached I got rid of 
him. “ Look here, Blake,” said I, “ don’t talk rot before 
my wife about our election tricks. She won’t under- 
stand them. Verbum sap , you know.” 

“ Why it’s not true, is it ? ” 

“What’s not true ? ” 

“ Why, that there’s been a split between you and 
the Missis ! ” 

“Certainly not. We are devoted to one another. 
Who’s been talking?” 

“No one in particular. They said at the Scalp 
Hunters’ last night there were ructions between you. 
But I see it’s all right. Only beastly scandal as usual. 
People will say anything now-a-days — actually say I 
liquor. Good-night. No offence you know, no offence.” 

Then I returned to the drawing-room. 

Florence said good-night and left us. Gertrude and I 
remained silent together for a moment. Then she 
spoke. 


260 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


“Are those stories Mr. Blake told about the magic- 
lantern and lectures on the Holy Land true ? ” 

“ No ; invented to amuse Florence. Blake writes for 
the comic papers, and thinks lie’s a humorist;” 

Then another silence which I broke. 

“ I may rely on you to help ? ” 

“ Yes, but not unconditionally.” 

“You won’t let anything out about our misunder- 
standing. The gossip-mongers have been busy already, 
and you know what a sanctimonious place Dichester 
is.” 

“I will do what I think right.” 

I opened the door for her, and she went up to her 
room. Passing her door an hour later I listened. The 
silly fool was crying ! 


CHAPTER XXX. 


The election was exciting work. The other side 
fought with vigour. Fortunately the old Earl of Mar- 
lington was now rapidly sliding off the scene with 
senile decay, and Righton, who confessed he “ didn’t 
care a dump about politics ” helped us. We had no dif- 
ficulty in persuading the voters that to reject me 
would be a slight on the dying nobleman, whose family 
had been associated with the borough since the Restora- 
tion. Gertrude, Florence, and I drove about the streets, 
and two days before the polling, I induced my sister to 
send for her nurse and baby to occupy the remain- 
ing seat in the barouche. My nephew wore the Liberal 
colours on his cap and shoulders, and won the admi- 
ration even of the wives of our opponents. A good 
many people jumped to the conclusion that Lady Ger- 
trude was the boy’s mother. It was a good move. 

“ The dashing of the kid into the picture,” Blake 
said to me, “ gave it the finishing touch. It’s no use 
the other side saying you ill-treat your wife now.” 

We let the local photographer take us in a group. 
It had an excellent sale. Whether I should have ever 
been elected without the help of Florence’s baby will 
never be known, but certainly the sudden death at 
Cannes of the Earl of Marlington gained me a large 
number of votes otherwise doubtful. Towns, like 
people, pride themselves on the possession of strange 

261 


262 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


things. Dichester was secretly vain of owning for its 
local magnate a nobleman with almost the worst char- 
acter in the peerage. The people felt it gave them a sort 
of distinction. Gertrude received the news with com- 
posure, and Righton hurried off to the South to bury 
his father. It did not occur to anybody to suggest 
the Earl should be conveyed to the family vault at 
Dichester parish church. 

We arrayed ourselves in the deepest mourning. 
Even Florence’s baby blossomed into signs of woe. My 
speeches were spotted with obituary reflections and 
mournful resignation to Providence. In secret Blake 
went about among the leading citizens, giving the 
assurance that if I were elected the new Earl of Mar- 
lington would present the fifteen-acre field known as 
the Meads, to the town for a recreation-ground. In 
some remote period of the town’s history, the head of 
the Marlington family had managed to filch the fifteen 
acres of common land from the burgesses of Dichester. 

It was my sense of justice and the influence I was sup- 
posed to exert on Righton that was about to make him 
perform the alleged act of restitution. No wonder the 
London papers described me as a very strong local 
candidate. 

I was in a whirl of excitement on the polling day, 
hoarse with much shouting and giddy with dodging 
the questions of the good people to whom Blake had 
been so lavish of promises. The excitement had even 
reached Gertrude, who once forgot not to address me 
directly. 

My father and Robert came down to see the fun, ex- 
plaining to my supporters that although Conservatives, 
the ties of blood were stronger than those of politics ; 
shaking hands with everybody and almost bursting 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


263 


with suppressed pride at their relationship to the future 
member for Dichester. 

But O ! the supreme moment ! O ! the wild bliss ! To 
find myself at the head of the poll by 250 votes, toss- 
ing on a sea of applauding and hissing voices. I can- 
not describe it. Gertrude, Florence, my father, Robert, 
had become dream-like and unimportant persons. 
“ Three cheers for Bailey-Martin ! ” “ Martin and anti- 

vaccination.” “ Martin and local option ! ” The shouts 
went up like unseen rockets, dissolving into happy, 
happy, triumphant stars. The rain poured on my head 
and I heeded it not, as I returned my thanks on the 
hotel steps to the shouting crowd. When ideas failed 
me, Blake made apt suggestions in my ears. Bat it was 
over at last. My friends and family surrounded me. 
Gertrude, pale but pleased, said, “ I congratulate you.” 
My father blessed me, Bob shook hands and called me 
a ’ole chap,” Florence laughed, Blake drank brandies and 
sodas. But it all passed in a dream, and a voice within 
me, in dulcet tones, announced me to myself as Percival 
Bailey-Martin, M. P. for Dichester. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


But this is not an account of my political life. Lapse 
of time ungilds most things. The most glorious part 
of many a public career is the opening day of it. 
Most politicians must content themselves with being 
mere voting units, and the political incidents connected 
with the casting of their votes excite little interest 
when they are over. But as an M. P. my claims to 
distinction visibly increased. Journalists interviewed 
me, companies desired my services as director, chari- 
ties contested for the honour of my name. But a year’s 
experience taught me the House of Commons was dreary 
dull. The weary hours I felt it my duty to spend there, 
made me need excitement elsewhere. I could not find it 
at home. Fourteen months of parliamentary life had 
not filled up the breach between my wife and myself. I 
do not know whether she expected me to climb over the 
barrier she had erected, but I did not try. She lived her 
life, I mine. It was not my fault if a situation for which 
she was responsible displeased her. A woman who 
nurses her jealousies, broods over fancied slights, and 
mopes over imaginary wrongs, does not deserve to be 
happy. Unkind things have been said of me even by 
my own family — I allude to Florence, — but I deny I was 
the cause of the dejection that continually oppressed 
her. What is the use of blinking at the truth ? I tell 
you it was the reception the world gave her book that 
made her ill. 

264 


Mil. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


265 


Since the foolish misunderstanding over Mimi Todd, 
Gertrude had insisted on being a wife merely in name. 
For whole days she scarcely spoke, and a t$te-cl-tete 
dinner with her had become insupportable. But was 
that my fault ? Goodness, how dismal she was ! O, 
Mimi Todd ! Mimi Todd ! your friendship has been a 
dearly-purchased prize. But my wife’s worries had 
really little to do with her, or with any other gentle 
friends who tried innocently to console me for an un- 
lucky marriage. I assure you they all arose from the 
publication of her book, entitled “The Evolution of 
Conduct.” Its failure would have been pathetic, had 
it been less droll. 

When Gertrude had written the last chapter, she 
brightened visibly, and went down to Bournemouth 
with my sister, suffering from a cold, or something, 
for she was always ailing. I promised to find a 
publisher for the immortal work, if I could. I was 
naturally interested in the result, for suppose — a remote 
supposition, I admit — the book succeeded, and my wife 
had an excuse for posing as an original thinker, 
obviously she would become a still more disagreeable 
companion. I preferred her as an unrecognised 
genius. 

Well, the publishers soon put my mind at rest on 
that score. If the name of Bailey-Martin is to be im- 
mortalised, it must be by my work. The leading 
publishers to whom I offered it were blind to the 
merits of Gertrude’s ponderous manuscript. Their 
reader, whilst discerning in the book, “evidence of 
wide reading, and great industry ” (Gertrude used to 
scribble all night long) “could not conscientiously 
advise its production for the public.” So it went its 
rounds, and was declined with thanks by one house 


2G6 


MB. BAILEY-MABTIN. 


after the other. Of course I posted the little official 
notes of polite refusal to Gertrude at Bournemouth. At 
last, somewhat sick of the business, and annoyed with 
some of my constituents who declared I had voted con- 
trary to my promises in some Bill or other, as if I re- 
membered to what Blake had pledged me, I wrote the 
following playful note to my sullen- tempered wife. You 
will understand me when, I am sure, I say playful. 

“Now all the leading publishers have kicked out 
your ‘ Evolution of Conduct,’ don’t you think we might 
offer it to your dear Clarkson to twist into curl- 
papers?” A little joke, of course, hut the cheapest 
way of disposing of it, all the same. 

You will scarcely believe Gertrude took umbrage 
at this. She did, though, for my sister wrote angrily, 
telling me to keep my heartless letters to myself. 
“ Gertrude,” she went on, “ is deeply disappointed at 
the reception of her book. She has had, as you know, 
small reason for happiness since her marriage, and now 
her only solace has gone, you write her a vulgar and 
insulting note ! ” 

As it would have been useless to explain that she 
need not convert her manuscript into curl papers, I let 
the matter drop. 

But, alas ! it pains me still when I remember how 
this little attempt at cheerfulness was taken, and the 
terrible after-consequences it brought on me. 

Gertrude and Florence returned to town, and my 
sister, her baby, and the nurse came to stay with us. 
Why my sister should quarter herself on us, I could 
not understand. I actually believe she thought Ger- 
trude needed her company. Her presence still further 
estranged us, and prevented me from confiding in my 
wife. 


MR. BAILEY -MARTIN. 


267 


Then the two women set to work themselves to find 
a publisher, and unearthed a foxy-eyed gentleman from 
Aberdeen who made a living by bringing out the novels 
and poems of ambitious and opulent amateurs. Ger- 
trude’s original idea was “to dispose of the manuscript.” 
Although she did not put a value on the book, I am sure 
she expected it would fetch a good price. When she 
found the only question of price was the sum she was 
to pay “ Sturt & Co.” for bringing it out, she winced. 
But he explained he was “ a young firm with no avail- 
able capital.” “ All I can get out of your great work,” 
he protested, “ is the honour of issuing a book with 
your name on the title-page, and a profit of ten per 
cent on the sale after it has passed the first edition of 
five thousand.” How I laughed when I read his letter. 
The firm understood its business thoroughly. But it 
was not for me to interfere. Still Gertrude certainly 
did enjoy correcting the proof-sheets. She slashed 
them about with a blue pencil, riddled them with anno- 
tations in red ink, regardless — probably unconscious, of 
the printers’ bill. 

It was a staggerer when it came in ! 

My wife — dear thrifty soul, expostulated. “ Sturt & 
Co.” explained that in contracting with the printer, 
they had not bargained for corrections on so wholesale 
a scale. The printer’s voucher was enclosed as a proof 
of the honesty of both in the matter. The book, I 
found, was set up by the firm’s brother-in-law, who 
dwelt in Glasgow, to whom it was entrusted for the 
sake of economy ! 

I don’t think they often had such a chance as my 
poor wife! Well, at last the work was issued, in- 
dexed, prefaced, annotated, to an alarming extent. 
Gertrude was in fever of excitement, yearning for 


268 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


reviews. They came at last. At the moment the “ Evo- 
lution of Conduct ” was published, comic reviewing was 
in vogue. The more serious papers frequently omit to 
notice books bearing the name of publishers who prey 
on the confiding amateur. Several of them merely 
acknowledged the receipt of, “On Conduct.” One 
gave it ten lines, others were silent. “ We do not,” 
wrote the sapient reviewer, “ like to say hard things 
of a young lady who attempts to write a philosophic 
treatise before she has mastered the terminology of 
her subject, since the attempt hurts nobody and may 
amuse the fair writer. But the authoress misquotes 
Kant as well as misunderstands him. We can for- 
give her for doing the last, but the former should be 
avoided, even by a lady of quality. Lady Gertrude 
Martin tackles her subject with undeniable courage 
but with most inadequate knowledge. Still she has 
read Mr. Herbert Spencer’s ‘ Data of Ethics.’ This is 
something ; unfortunately, they have bewildered her, 
this is a pity.” 

“ The man never read the book,” exclaimed my wife 
with a hysterical gulp, after she had mastered the terri- 
ble paragraph. 

“He spotted your blunder about Kant, at all events,” 
I remarked. 

“ Never mind what the papers say,” said Florence, 
soothingly, “ 4 The Evening Planet ’ spoke of Percival 
as ‘ a rising politician,’ the other day. It will soon be 
a sign of distinction not to be praised in them. If you 
had written a gushing novel and called it ‘ Only a 
Kiss,’ (Kippir & Co.), the same reviewer would have 
described it as ‘full of fin de siecle espieglerie and 
womanly realism.’ I’m quoting from a notice in the 
same column. No one understands what he means, 


MIL BAILEY-MARTIN. 269 

but Miss Euphemia Beeswing is a happy spinster this 
day.” 

But Gertrude, not to be soothed, left the breakfast 
table and shut herself in her room till lunch time. 

A few days later she received a whole batch of 
wouldbe smart notices from the Press Cutting Agency 
to which she subscribed. 

“ They all went for her,” said Blake to me at the 
Scalp Hunters’. “ ‘ The Evolution of Conduct ’ does 
lend itself to chaff. Not that one of those chaps 
squeezed out a joke. Wait till my review is out ! that 
will make you squirm.” 

Now, as a matter of duty, I had requested Blake to 
review the book carefully and “ with absolute impar- 
tiality,” in “ The Arcadian,” a clever weekly paper, and 
my wife’s favourite journal. Unfortunately, Blake did 
not like my wife, he had several slights to avenge, and 
the vindictive little beggar availed himself of his oppor- 
tunity, Now I only desired him to be just, but he was 
absolutely brutal if excruciatingly funny. He mauled 
the book about wickedly, pointed out slips in grammar, 
fallacies in reasoning, blunders innumerable in draw- 
ing conclusions from ill-digested arguments of famous 
philosophers. In fact, as he said, he “knocked the 
inside out, and never left the rot a single pompous leg 
to stand on.” 

The attack sent Gertrude into hysterics, and Florence 
into a passion of indignation. 

For three days my wife remained in her room, nor 
did I intrude on her privacy. Florence insisted I 
should ascertain the name of the writer and horsewhip 
him, or demand an editorial apology. If Major Lam- 
bert had been home, she would have made him do some- 
thing ridiculous at “The Arcadian” office. But I 


270 


MB . BAILE Y-MAll TIN. 


refused to act in the matter. The review might be 
rude, I admitted, but people— ladies especially, who 
brave public criticism — must put up with what they 
meet with. 

The legend says Keats was “ snuffed out ” by an ar- 
ticle. In cases of abnormal literary infatuation, such 
a thing is, I believe, quite possible. Jemmie Blake’s 
criticism actually produced nervous prostration in my 
wife. The doctor came and said she must not be wor- 
ried nor allowed to read any more reviews. Florence 
undertook to nurse her. 

The growing affection between two women so totally 
dissimilar was a strange thing. u I have never seen a 
sadder life than Gertrude’s,” Florence said to me more 
than once. I don’t know what my sister expected me to 
do, but to thaw my wife now she was disappointed in her 
literary ambition, was beyond my power. I am not a 
fatalist, but I certainly think she was unreasonable in 
blaming a man for submitting to the decrees of Provi- 
dence. 

A man’s public duties too often prevent him from 
exercising the domestic virtues. If I had been respon- 
sible for the failure of “ The Evolution of Conduct,” 
Gertrude could scarcely have treated me with more 
resentment. This unwifely feeling did not show 
itself in words, but in her moral attitude towards 
me, and was something to be felt rather than 
described. 

Gertrude ceased to take any interest in politics. 
Where were the visions we had once nourished in com- 
mon, those air-castles of young hope, in which her 
drawing-room was the salon for statesmen and 
politicians to meet, and policies influencing the British 
Empire to be foreshadowed ? Vanished, all vanished. 


MR . B .1 ILEY-MA R TIN. 


271 


The lady who was to preside over it and delight in my 
career, had become a morose and peevish invalid. 

My home was not an agreeable one, but I did not 
allow it to depress me. But no cheerfulness could re- 
sist Gertrude’s black melancholia, and as my political 
duties kept me much away from home, I sometimes 
did not exchange a word with Gertrude for a week. 

The session ended soon after her book was published, 
and feeling the need of a change to brighten surround- 
ings, I arranged to go to Paris for a few days. Mimi 
Todd chanced to be there, as I afterwards discovered, 
but our meeting, which had so disastrous an effect, 
was, I assure you, a pure accident. I had not thought 
it right to renounce this lady’s friendship nor her soci- 
ety because of my wife’s jealousy, but I never permitted 
her to know we continued to meet. 

The innocent intercourse with this agreeable and 
talented lady would have been misunderstood by the 
world. I had seen more than one parliamentary 
career blasted and destroyed by indiscretion. Conse- 
quently I exercised the utmost caution, and induced 
Mimi to do the same. But the public has no right to 
pry into these matters, and I for one shall refuse to 
gratify its morbid curiosity. 

But little did I realise by how thin a veil I was pro- 
tected ! 

Gertrude showed as much reluctance to see me as I 
did to come under the shadow of her melancholy, which 
my presence only seemed to increase. I left before 
she was up, and when I returned at night all the house 
was supposed to be asleep, although a light still shone 
usually under her door. 

The evening before the day fixed for my departure, 
I told her of my projected visit. I was going to a 


272 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


political dinner, and, having dressed, knocked at her 
door. 

She was sitting before the fire, listlessly watching 
Florence playing with her little boy. Perhaps it we 
had had a child, my wife would have been like other 
women. 

“ I hope you are better, Gertrude,” said I cheerily, 
“ but I suppose you are not well enough to come to 
Paris with me to-morrow night.” 

“ I am not,” she said, curtly and ungraciously. 

“ In that case I am afraid I must go alone. You 
won’t be dull with Florence and my nephew.” 

“ What is your reason for going to Paris ? ” asked 
Florence. 

“Well, I want a little change, and should like to 
hear a debate in the French Chamber. An interesting 
one is expected the day after to-morrow.” 

“Your uncle was always fond of improving his 
mind,” said Florence ironically to the baby boy. “ He 
speaks French so beautifully, too. He’ll quite under- 
stand what they say.” 

The baby laughed up at her in the firelight. Then 
there was a slight pause. Florence was absorbed in 
the baby smile, whilst Gertrude looked “ do.urly ” into 
the fire, and I stood with my hand on the door-handle. 
I was determined to do my duty by my wife, and if 
she had objected to my going, would have yielded to 
her caprice. 

“ If you do not wish me to go,” I said, “I will stay 
at home.” 

I spoke with the utmost good-nature, I assure you. 

“ Go, by all means,” she said, bitterly. “ Do exactly 
what you like, but openly and frankly ; a desire to go 
to Paris needs no excuses.” 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


273 


“ All right,” I replied, nettled, “ then I shall go by 
the night-train to-morrow. Good-bye, if I don’t see you 
again.” 

I did not see her again, and left without further 
farewell. 


18 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


This trip of mine to Paris strained our relations to 
the breaking-point. As an autobiographist I now find 
myself in a position of the greatest difficulty, for I am 
compelled to present my wife to the world in very 
odious colours. The extent of her literary disappoint- 
ment is her only excuse. It affected her feelings to- 
wards me, and made her descend to the abject means 
of employing a Private Detective Office to watch me 
in Paris. Florence knew nothing of this. Clarkson 
must have acted as her agent and adviser in the matter. 
But consider the disgraceful picture for a moment ! 
Here we have the daughter of an Earl actually plot- 
ting with her maid to bring about the social and politi- 
cal ruin of her husband ! The present Earl of Marling- 
ton has been guilty of some mean actions in which 
money, women, or horses have been concerned. His 
predecessor had sinned in a similar manner, only more 
aggressively and on a bolder scale of iniquity. But it 
was left to the daughter of the house to compass the 
ruin of her husband by means of false evidence. The 
delicacy of my position, therefore, is great. As a gen- 
tleman and a man of honour, it is my duty to spare the 
memory of my wife ; but shall sentiment outweigh love 
of truth ? Henceforth you must believe all I say, and 
pity me unreservedly or look on me as one unfit to 
mix with men of honour. 

274 


MB. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


275 


Little did I think, as I travelled to Paris, that a 
hired ruffian with a note-hook and an overwhelming 
capacity for “ collecting evidence ” — in other words, of 
inventing lies for the lawyers — was dogging my steps. 
How free from suspicion I was ! The night was still 
and frosty, I remember, and the sea calm. I stood on 
the deck, watching the bright planets, deep in thought. 
I had commenced my public life with some success ; 
the leaders of my party looked on me as a young and 
promising politician with favourable eyes. I nourished 
hut one ambition — to devote myself to the service of 
my country. Already in my busy brain, a Bill was ger- 
minating which I hoped to bring before the House at 
its next Session. It was to provide the Board School 
children with boots in all cases in which their parents 
were unable to keep their hoys and girls comfortably 
shod. I was carefully examining the clauses of the 
rough mental draught in embryo in my mind, whilst, 
standing in that part of the deck allotted for second- 
class passengers, was the hatchet-faced Jew watch- 
ing for the Calais lights. But picture the contrast ! 
At the moment I was full of philanthropic schemes to 
increase the happiness of my poorer fellow-country- 
men, a base and venal purveyor of false evidence, 
might have been seen watching me with baleful eyes. 
But I — poor trusting victim — saw nothing, and can 
only now grind my teeth in impotent rage as I dwell 
on it. 

To my intense surprise, whilst I was lunching at the 
Grand Hotel the next day, I saw Mimi Todd sit- 
ting at a table with two of her countrymen. My ene- 
mies of course declare the meeting had been carefully 
arranged. To this I here give the most absolute and 
indignant denial. My life lately had not been a happy 


276 


MB, BAILEY-MABTIN. 


one, and Mimi understood my character and appre- 
ciated the delicacy of my feelings towards her. 

But Paris is Paris. In the beautiful French capital 
the British Mrs. Grundy is, by association, I suppose, 
apt to be forgotten. It was during that delightful 
season when Paris is ending her year, and the shops 
and cafes are irradiated with the movement and bright- 
ness of the Nouvel Ans, that we thus accidentally met ! 
That w~e met unattached, she without old Silas, and I 
without my wife, was an unfortunate coincidence ; that 
chance brought us to the same hotel, another ; that we 
were warm-hearted and sympathetic, the third. From 
such simple facts as these, aided by the misrepresenta- 
tion of professional agents, whose jaundiced eyes be- 
hold sin even in the smile of innocence, lawyers can 
construct dams of legal evidence great enough to keep 
back a whole sea of truth. It would not be fair to 
Mrs. Todd and her husband, who nobly believed in the 
virtue of his wife, to relate all the incidents of the 
merry, innocent New Year’s week fate decreed we 
should spend together in Paris. Nor does it follow 
because I wrote to my wife, asking her to forward my 
cheque-book, without making any reference to Mrs. 
Todd, but describing the Debate in the Chamber of 
Deputies, at which her spy reported I was not present, 
that I desired to keep our meeting a secret. But I 
admit it was unlucky that Mimi, who is romantic, 
should travel under the name of Muriel Stanmore, and 
that the visitors book at the hotel should bear the name 
of Captain Stanmore. Who this man is I have never 
known, but I am ready to swear I was never identified 
by the name. But I have my own theory of this hid- 
eously unlucky business. The wretched creature paid 
to collect evidence against me, may have actually manu- 


ME. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


277 


factured it ! Having ascertained that poor little Mimi 
was passing under the name of Mrs. Stanmore, I am 
convinced he had the audacity to write Captain Stan- 
more above it in a handwriting copied from mine. 
You will say this is highly improbable. It may be ; 
my wife’s lawyers smiled at the idea. I can give no 
other explanation. Nothing is sacred to a private 
detective. Crimes even worse than this, have 
been committed to make a case strong. The whole 
thing was the result of a marvellous series of coinci- 
dences, aided by the depraved hand of purchased 
wickedness. Alas ! alas ! alas ! it is only in old-fash- 
ioned plays and novels that truth and innocence pre- 
vail over falsehood and cunning. 

My wife never answered my letter, nor sent my 
cheque-book, and I actually had to borrow two hun- 
dred francs of Mimi to take me home. I drove from 
Charing Cross with a feeling of pity in my heart for 
Gertrude. “ I will,” I thought, “ try to take her out 
of herself, and make her find interest in my political 
aspirations.” Little did I anticipate the avalanche 
about to roll over and crush me — an avalanche that 
she had pitilessly prepared for the man she had once 
pretended to love. To my surprise, I found all the 
blinds of the house down. My first thought was my 
wife was dead. Alas ! it would have been better so. 
Myself I would prefer death to meanness and malice, 
and if the affair could have been reversed, would have 
believed my wife’s word against all the circumstantial 
evidence in the world. But the servant who opened 
the door, told me Lady Gertrude was staying with the 
Earl of Marlington. Still unsuspecting, but surprised, 
I went into the library for my letters. Amongst them I 
found a formidable one from my wife’s lawyers. Act- 


278 


ME. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


ing under their advice, and with the sanction of her 
brother the Earl, I learnt that my wife intended to 
bring an action against me for a judicial separation ! 
The following letter from the Earl made the matter 
still clearer : 

“ Sir, your conduct towards my sister renders her 
living with you any longer impossible. Till her suit 
is ended she will reside with me.” 

I saw what that meant ! Marlington wanted to get 
his knife into me, because he always pretended I had 
“done him.” This was his revenge. But T think I 
have damned his character since. How Gertrude got 
the wicked little man to write that letter, and pose as 
her protector, I never knew. The whole thing was a 
conspiracy on the face of it. 

A third letter was from my sister from Surbiton — 
brief and to the point. 

“Your wife has told me all. The evidence collected 
against you is, the lawyers declare, overwhelming. It 
was not possible in so aggravated a case to counsel her 
to forgive you. Anything, it seems to me, is better 
than this life of deceit you are living. I am at home, 
where they are not to be consoled. So much was 
expected from you ! ” 

I wrote out three telegrams as answers to these let- 
ters. Here is the copy. 

“ I am innocent and can prove it. Ho your worst,” 
— omitting the note of defiance in the one intended for 
Florence. Then returning home — a home for me no 
longer — sat in silence and horror on the verge of 
approaching shipwreck. 

Then followed a week of nightmares. I cleared out 
of my wife’s house, and took up my quarters at the 
Temple in my old chambers. My virtuous family 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 279 

have that purely middle-class fear of a scandal, that 
rendered their society at this time insupportable. 

This time they refused to believe in my innocence, 
thanks to Florence. My father came up and stormed 
at me. He called me a prodigal, who had filched his 
position from an indulgent parent by false pretences, 
and regretted he was no longer able to cut me out of 
his will. I ended in losing my temper, and told him 
not to make himself “ an old fool,” and he went out of 
my chambers swearing he would never see me again. 
How quickly relations and friends are found out in the 
time of our misfortune. My mother wrote and told 
me that I was bringing my “ papa’s grey hairs in sor- 
row to the grave,” and that all that was left for her in 
her old age was to pray for a son who had brought 
“ this sorrow upon them all.” But as there was noth- 
ing to be gained by an attitude of humility, and sus- 
tained in this great trial by a sense of moral rectitude, 
I defied my father’s curses, my mother’s prayers, and 
snubbed Bob when he came as a sort of patronising 
intermediator to assure me that if there was anything 
he could do, I might rely on him. This from a man 
who had held himself highly honoured if I asked him to 
dinner. My family had set me up on a pedestal and 
had admired me respectfully at a distance. They had 
hoped to rise socially by clinging to my skirts, and 
for months had basked complacently in the reflected 
glory I cast on them. Ask the people down at Surbi- 
ton. Mrs. Martin, they will tell you, talked nothing 
but the peerage, and never drove into Kingston Mar- 
ket on Saturday, without Debrett on the carriage-seat 
before her. These were the virtuous parents who now 
turned against me because Gertrude’s spies had burked 
the truth. The lawyers said my wife was sure to get 


280 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


judgment. My own knowledge of the law told me 
that, however strong I might feel myself morally, 
legally I was very weak. Alas for the mens conscia 
recti / It availeth nothing unsupported by evidence. 
Gertrude had taken me unawares and stabbed me in 
the back, and now I was down, the whole world was 
jumping on me. 

My supposed iniquities grew on the tongue of scan- 
dal. My brother members of Parliament began to 
avoid me ; my constituents to clamour for my resigna- 
tion, especially those who owed me the most. The 
dissenting element, whom I had so delighted with lec- 
tures and entertained at tea-parties, held a meeting 
at which a motion was unanimously passed, calling 
on me to place my seat in the hands of the electors 
“ until such time as the charges against me should 
be disposed of.” But I defied them and informed their 
committee that however much politically I might de- 
sire to discharge the trust they had reposed upon me, 
they must permit me to be guardian of my own con- 
science. As a public man, I informed them, “ that I 
considered it my duty to make a stand against the in- 
quisitorial impertinences of all self-appointed censors.” 

Whilst I was contending against the storm rising on 
all sides against me, Silas Todd, without his wife, came 
to London. Silas called for me at the Scalp Hunt- 
ers’ — the only spot in all London where I was now wel- 
come, and where the approaching suit my wife was 
bringing against me was the favourite topic of conver- 
sation behind my back. But even here I felt all my 
former reputation as a rising young man was lost. The 
members adopted a “poor-old-chap” sort of style 
which I no longer had the spirit to resist, but which 
I found peculiarly galling. 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


281 


When Silas was announced I admit I felt a cold 
pang in my heart. Suppose Silas should go with the 
crowd and believe me guilty, even before the Court had 
proved anything against me, what might not be the 
terrible consequences ? Might he not persuade himself 
he was an injured husband ? Although eminently of 
a peaceful disposition he came from the land of the re- 
volver and bowie-knife, and who knows to what ex- 
tremities jealousy may not drive the meekest amongst 
us? 

At the Scalp Hunters’ it is the custom of the servant 
to tell a visitor inquiring for a member that he will go 
and see whether the latter is in. So, when the boy in 
buttons, handed me old Silas’s card I exclaimed nerv- 
ously, “ Tell him I’m out of town,” seeing a horrible 
picture in fancy of myself weltering in my gore on the 
floor of the Club smoking-room beneath the pistol of 
the avenging Silas. I half-expected to hear an angry 
voice on the stairs. But I looked out of the window 
in time to see the retiring figure of Silas. To all ap- 
pearance he was revolverless and patient and unag- 
gressive as when I had last seen him at Chamonix. 
But I was not satisfied even yet, but drove back to my 
chambers and doubly locked my door — not because 
my conscience was a guilty one, but because I know 
how weak human nature is in other people. 

To my great relief I discovered on the next day that 
Silas believed in his wife’s innocence and in mine, and 
had come over to tell me so. He wrote asking me 
to dinner and sympathising with me as the victim of a 
gross conspiracy. Belief in one’s fellow-creatures is 
found in strange places, and Silas had made a warm 
nest for it in his simple and kindly heart. Silas shoot 
me! 


282 


MR. BA1LEY-MABTIN. 


“ My wife, sir,” said he, “ has explained all, and I’ve 
come over to shake you by the hand and give you the 
support of Silas A. Todd.” 

A spasm of gratitude filled my eyes with tears. 

“ I knew you would feel by instinct I was an inno- 
cent and deeply-wronged man.” 

Certainly it must have been instinct — instinct en- 
couraged by Mimi. 

But there are certain natures in which appearances 
never outweigh feeling. And in following this noble 
conviction under Mimi’s guidance, the man whom the 
world said I had injured the most, proved my greatest 
comfort and support. 

I confess I do not even now know the manner in 
which the mind of this just man worked its way to 
the truth. There were dark and suspicious places to 
be passed before it reached the light. Like all the best 
Americans Silas had the poorest opinion of our aris- 
tocracy. He believed their power in evil-doing was 
enormous, and that under the influence of the wicked 
Earl of Marlington my wife was determined to ruin 
me by an action for separation. To arrive at this he 
had convinced himself all that was needed was to pur- 
chase and manufacture evidence. The judges and jury 
in England would naturally be on the side of the Earl, 
and against the rising commoner, whose ruin for cer- 
tain social and political reasons had become necessary. 

“ I see through the whole thing, sir,” said Silas with 
that meek indignation that accompanies a life of dys- 
pepsia, “ and, thank God, such crimes are not possible 
in the great Western Republic where I was raised.” 

What could I say ? I only pressed his hands over 
and over again, whilst the unshed tears burned in my 
heart. For how beautiful a thing is human trust ! 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


The good Silas stayed in London, allowing the light 
of his countenance to fall upon me. I took him to my 
clubs, marched him about in Piccadilly, wore him as a 
badge of innocence, as it were, on my cap. The world 
that had busied itself with my story was amazed. 
You know what man-of -the- world morality means. It 
assumes, where women are concerned, that all men are 
guilty. Constancy and respect for solemn pledges are 
regarded as things of no account. It scoffs at the idea 
of purity, accepting a dead level of conventional deprav- 
ity as the moral condition of us all. Imagine the effect 
of a Silas on people such as these ! How could they be 
expected to understand him. They looked on him as 
a magnificent specimen of the mari trompe , a guileless 
and feeble- minded old gentleman victimized by a schem- 
ing wife and a plausible scoundrel. 

But on purer and less conventional minds, Silas had 
some effect. The clamouring Puritans at Dichester 
were induced to think that after all I might be the vic- 
tim of a conspiracy. They would, they said, abide by 
the judgment of the Divorce Court and hope for the 
best. 

But this was exactly what I did not want them to 
do, as I have said before. Those who believed in 
me, must believe all in all or not at all. 

283 


284 


MB. BAILEY-MABTIN. 


The lawyers, to a man, declared the case would be 
given against me, and the “ Evening Umpire ” did not 
hesitate to find me guilty in anticipation. Leer, the 
Editor, after an erratic career as a gutter politician, 
had appointed himself a sort of moral Cato. Unfortu- 
nately the fellow had acquired wide influence. He 
tried me in the columns of his paper and did not hesi- 
tate to find me guilty and to tell my electors to get rid 
of me if my character should be smirched by the legal 
proceedings my “ unhappy Avife had been driven to take 
against me. For,” he continued, “ the evil-doer must 
suffer and serve as an example.” All politicians, he 
maintained, must be immaculate, or public opinion 
must drive them from public life. This frothy rubbish 
with which the rabid columns of his paper were brim- 
ming over, made me giddy Avith honest indignation. 
I had taught myself from my earliest days to look on 
the weaknesses of my felloAV-creatures Avith charity, 
but in that hour of trial I found everybody’s hand 
eager to throAV the first stone, and only simple-minded 
Silas Todd Avilling to stand between me and the puri- 
tanic mob howling for my sacrifice. All Surbiton said, 
“this is just what we expected,” and circulated stories 
of my youthful indiscretion, that I have not thought it 
worth Avhile to record here, and retold the tale Avith a 
hideous distortion of the facts of that boy and girl 
affair betAveen Edith Lyall and myself. The scandals 
reached the ears of my parents, and my family closed 
their sympathies against me. “ If,” said my mother, 
“ he Avould only repent, all might be forgiven.” My 
father bitterly regretted the £25,000 he had settled on 
me Avhen T married. “ It AA-as,” he told Bob, who re- 
peated it to me, “ the greatest mistake he ever made.” 
It Avas Bob, too, who took pleasure in retailing to me 


MB, BAILEY-MARTIN. 


285 


the scandalous stories then circulating at Surbiton. 
They had made a monster of me. 

“ This is what I say,” said Bob, “ Percival may not 
be the saint the mater used to think, but he ain’t 
quite a Blue Beard. Give the devil his due, I say.” 

This for a defence — and from a brother too. Con- 
trast it with the heroic conduct of Silas. 

But Providence decreed that the eagerly expectant 
world should be baulked of its prey. 

Ko communication had passed between myself and 
my wife, and I had no idea of the disastrous effects 
the excitement caused by the legal conflict she had so 
madly provoked, had wrought on her already much 
enfeebled constitution. Marlington, confound him, 
had publicly cut me, and returned the letters I sent 
him unopened, through the hands of the ex-horse- jockey 
who had assumed the dignity and title of his private 
secretary. 

A brief letter from Florence, announcing Gertrude 
was lying dangerously ill at Kensington, was my first 
warning. 

Gertrude had conducted her action against me with 
so much energy and aptitude, that I still think it must 
have afforded her personal gratification. But this I 
have been assured was not the case. To spare her the 
pain of coming before a public tribunal, I had proposed 
to her we should have a separation by mutual consent, 
and was willing to accept almost any terms her law- 
yers might propose. She replied through them that 
our unhappy differences were a topic of common talk 
in society. A judicial separation alone Avould show 
which of us was to blame. It had since come to her 
hearing that I had given to my friends an utterly false 
idea of our relations, and she was determined to let 


280 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


the world know the truth. Her legal advisers, I was 
further informed, were of opinion that her case was 
even strong enough to permit her to apply for a divorce, 
with every prospect of success, inasmuch as my con- 
duct amounted to actual cruelty, but this ignominy she 
was willing to spare me. 

But when I heard she was lying ill, in spite of her 
implacable temper, I felt I could forgive her. Pity 
stirred in my heart, and the words of King Arthur to 
Guinevere came into my mind. 

“ For think not, tho’ thou wouldst not love thy lord, 

Thy lord has wholly lost his love for thee.” 

For are not men always more magnanimous than 
women ? 

I wrote to my sister suggesting an interview. For 
two days there came no answer, but on the morning of 
the third I received a telegram, “ Come at once if you 
wish to see your wife.” 

Clarkson opened the door. How that woman hated 
me ! She had never forgiven me. 

“ How is she ? ” I asked. 

“ Sinking fast.” 

Then she glared at me with a hard, set, defiant face. 
Her glare made me savage. 

“ Well, you abandoned woman,” I said, sternly, “ I 
hope you are pleased with your work. For you aroused 
my wife’s jealousies and set her on. to watch me. Have 
you no conscience ? ” 

I scarcely knew I was speaking, for I hated to see 
her standing there victorious. 

“Conscience!” she cried, “conscience! Hear the 
man talk o’ conscience, who’s killed his wife ! ” 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 287 

“ You infamous liar,” I exclaimed, “ I’ll have you up 
for libel. I know you.” 

But the grim-faced woman never flinched, but only 
relapsed into her infernal Scotch which fifteen years 
of London had almost effaced. “ I ken you too ower- 
well an’ dinna fear to call you a murderer.” 

The hard-featured wretch made me perfectly giddy 
with anger. 

But my sister appearing on the landing above, re- 
called me to myself. She beckoned me to ascend. 
Without another glance at the wretched Scotchwoman, 
I hastened to my wife’s door. Florence’s serene face 
seemed haggard and altered, and she showed no signs 
of the sisterly affection with which she was wont to 
greet me. Two doctors and the professional nurse 
were with my wife. 

Gertrude, I learnt, took a severe chill the day before 
I returned from Paris, but she neglected it, and it 
brought on a violent attack of asthma, from which 
she was a frequent sufferer. Whilst she was still 
very weak she insisted on returning to town from 
Dichester, on account of “ this horrible business,” to 
use Frorence’s words. She could neither, it appeared, 
sleep nor eat, but spent her time in going backwards 
and forwards to Lincoln’s Inn Field, or tearing up 
old letters. Next she was prostrated by a violent 
attack of bronchitis, complicated by congestion of the 
lungs. Terribly exhausted, the nurse feared she would 
have sunk that morning, and my wife’s doctor called 
in an eminent physician, whose faint murmurs I could 
hear through the closed door. This was all Florence 
could tell me. 

Gertrude, I afterwards learnt, had sent for Florence, 
three days before, and would not let her leave. 


288 


MB. BA ILEY-MA B TIN. 


I shall not forget that horrible minute as I stood 
on the familiar landing of my wife’s house where six 
short weeks ago I had been the master. I knew every 
inmate of it, from my sister downwards, blinded by 
an extraordinary prejudice, indirectly attributed my 
wife’s illness to me. 

The doctors came out ; one knew me well, and we 
went down to the dining-room. I turned to the physi- 
cian for his verdict. “ She will probably die of ex- 
haustion before the day is out.” I bowed my head in 
painful resignation. 

It needed all my philosophy to bear up against the 
crushing blow. For in spite of my deep wrongs I 
could not forget she had once thought she loved me. 
The doctors watched me curiously. I do not think 
they were accustomed to such stoicism as mine. Ter- 
ribly sad as my wife’s approaching death was, it yet 
brought one compensation which, when the first wide 
wave of melancholy swept across my soul, I did not 
perceive. The legal proceedings she had commenced 
against me would now be buried in her grave. 

The physician took his departure, and the family 
doctor sat in silence before the fire, in case he should 
be wanted. 

Marlington was supposed to be at Monte Carlo. 
They had telegraphed the news of liis sister’s illness 
thither ; old Lady Marlington was expected from Bath. 

A black spot seemed hovering over the house. 
Through the fog in the street, the sounds of the traffio 
reached me in a muffled and meaningless monotone. 
From the abysses of silence, I seemed to feel the 
whisper of approaching death. Full of pity though I 
was, my conscience was at rest. Unable to stand the 
gloom of the dining-room with the doctor, who thought 


MR. BAT LEY-MARTIN. 


289 


it right to boycott me by a rampart of silence and 
the advertisement sheet of The Times , I went to the 
drawing-room. Poor Gertrude’s “Evolution of Con- 
duct ” was on the table. If her untimely death at that 
moment approaching had been hastened by any cause 
it lay there. On the easel was the portrait of my wife 
with the flame-like wings of inspiration springing from 
her pale cheeks, the work of that man of genius who 
was never famous. 

Then Florence came. 

“ Gertrude is asking for you,” she said. 

I followed her up to the room. 

My photograph was still on the mantelpiece. Ger- 
trude lay there on the bed, breathing almost imper- 
ceptibly. Her face with the death-pallor on it, 
shrunken and livid though it was with suffering, 
seemed to have borrowed a dignity it had never before 
possessed. 

I approached the bedside, and she opened her eyes. 
By this expression, I perceived she had forgotten the 
quarrel between us and that her mind was wandering. 
A strange film had gathered over them — the result of 
the opiates they had given her. 

Her lips moved, and she spoke as though in a trance. 
“ Percival ! Percival.” 

I stooped over her to hear her words. 

“ Why do you leave me ? ” said the faint voice ; 
“ come nearer.” 

I held her cold, clammy fingers, and placed my face 
on the pillow near her. My presence seemed to soothe 
her, and she fell asleep. 

It had lasted some ten minutes, when, unable to bear 
the strained position, I removed my hand and my 
head from her pillow. But, gently and tenderly as I 

19 


290 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


stirred, it awoke the dying woman. Her eyes met 
mine, this time the film was removed, and her con- 
sciousness clear. A sudden pang shot across her face. 
Trying to rise on her elbow she said, “ You have beaten 
me. I am dying, and I am still your wife.” 

In that supreme moment, I flung myself on my knees 
beside her and said — and my voice seemed to fill the 
house — “ Forgive me, Gertrude, for God’s sake, if you 
think I have been unkind to you.” 

But she turned from me with a look of fear and, 
alas ! of aversion, and fainted. 

The nurse hurried me from the room, the doctor 
entered. Florence and I stood on the landing. 

“ She is dead,” said the doctor to the nurse ; “ the in- 
terview was too much for her.” Florence’s eyes met 
mine. The street-bell rang violently, and I knew it 
was the old Marlington woman, arrived too late. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


That morning is a record of varying emotions and 
the strangest in my life. I had never been in the pres- 
ence of death and it awed me. 

Only the frivolous and the selfish can contemplate it 
with indifference. It seemed to be disassociated with 
the bustling world that absorbed me. From a sense 
of delicacy, you will understand, I avoided seeing old 
Lady Marlington. Grief naturally seeks solitude. I 
felt I must be alone. My poor Gertrude’s untimely 
death had made a vast change, and a different life must 
be commenced. From the fragments of the old one 
about me I must build anew. 

I had heard of that unforgiving spirit which not even 
natural sorrow nor the presence of death itself can 
soften, but scarcely believed in its actual existence. But 
I was destined now to be the victim of it. Shaken by 
my emotions I drove back to my chambers. Hencefor- 
ward every step I took was destined to be maliciously 
misrepresented. The old Marlington woman hated me, 
and Clarkson commenced to poison her mind still more 
against me. She had no difficulty in persuading her 
that my poor wife’s death was due to my brutal con- 
duct! They actually tried to believe she died of a 
broken heart ! Asthma, bronchitis, inflammation of the 
lungs and the physical causes were ignored. The old 
lady, seconded finally by her son, entered on an atro- 

291 


292 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


cious campaign to ruin me. This is how the story of 
poor Gertrude’s broken heart became invented. They 
commenced before her body was yet in the grave. 

The motives deserving of respect that induced me 
to leave that terrible old woman alone in her daughter’s 
house gave her an advantage over me. 

When I called there on the following day she refused 
to see me, through Clarkson. Unwilling to make a scene 
I retired to the black melancholy of my chambers in 
the Temple, and wrote a letter of expostulation. It was 
a beautiful letter, but too sacred to be printed here. 

In reply I received this brief note : 

Your treatment of my daughter broke her heart 
and hurried her into the grave. Had she lived a few 
weeks longer she would have ceased to be your 
wife. You have no moral claim on her, and only the 
shadow of a legal one. Her funeral will take place on 
Tuesday at Brompton Cemetery.” 

What could I do ? Gertrude had no power over the 
bulk of her fortune, in which she had only a life in- 
terest. As we were, unfortunately, childless, it passed 
to some distant cousins. Alas ! if she had had a child, 
how much happier our married life would have been, 
but Providence deemed otherwise. She had, I knew, 
made some excellent investments with the money saved 
out of her income, for she was a thrifty, not to say 
close, woman — to which I should have a claim had she 
died intestate. But as a testatrix, she had pursued 
me in the jealousy of her heart after her death. Alas ! 
that I of all men should be compelled to say it. But 
Gertrude made a wicked and vindictive will. With 
one half of her savings she endowed a chair at a great 
college for ladies for the study of psychology ; the 
other she bequeathed to Marlington, on the under- 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


293 


standing her memory was “to be vindicated after 
her death! My husband, Percival Bailey-Martin, 
will misrepresent the causes of my alienation from 
him after my death. He is without honour and 
without scruple.” These were the words of the will 
she made just after her attack of asthma, when she 
believed she might not live long enough to bring to 
a conclusion the suit she had commenced against me. 
The misguided woman left behind her also a mass of 
papers bracketed “Evidence against Percival Bailey- 
Martin.” These documents were carefully and methodi- 
cally arranged for the purpose of blasting my character. 

Poor Gertrude, jealousy had driven her mad. Still 
I can forgive her. For who knows better than I how 
“ whispered words can poison truth.” 

But I will not dwell on this horrible period. Old 
Lady Marlington would not even allow me to have a 
voice in the funeral arrangements. They were carried 
out without consulting me, and my unhappy wife was 
nailed in her coffin without my seeing her face again. 

What I could do in Gertrude’s honour I did. I caused 
a cross of white flowers four feet high and three feet 
wide to be made, and took it with me in a brougham to 
the cemetery. No place was offered me in the mourn- 
ing coach. It held Marlington and the three distant 
cousins, the heirs-at-law. I sat alone in the hired 
brougham with the cross, and Bobert and my father 
followed in their own carriage. When we met round 
the grave Marlington pretended he did not see me ; and 
the three pink-eyed, rabbit-mouthed cousins — one a 
curate — also ignored my presence. My father even 
thought it becoming to adopt an attitude of disapproval 

copied from some long-forgotten actor in the part of 

King Lear. In fact I, Percival Bailey-Martin, Member 


294 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


for Dichester, was boycotted over the open grave of my 
wife. A crowd assembled, attracted by the enormous 
size of the cross I had placed on the coffin. The white 
tombstones blinked through the smoke-saturated yel- 
lowness of the day. The fair white petals of the last 
offering I could make my wife were withered and 
chilled by the poisonous atmosphere. We stood around 
the grave on the thick clay of the closely-packed ceme- 
tery, a band of mourners of whom I alone sorrowed. 
The heirs-at-law were I am sure doing sums of mental 
arithmetic, re-investing, I doubt not, the heritage which 
a juster law would have allotted to me. It was only 
owing to the “ greatest mistake my father ever made in 
his life,” that I did not stand there, meekly defiant, 
a pauper as well as a widower. Even in that black 
minute, life was not without its consolations. 

We were separating as silently as we had met. No 
one exchanged a word with me except Robert. “ This 
is a rum start,” said he, “ a very rum start ! The gov’- 
nor means to wash his hands of you, but if you don’t 
get kicked out at Dichester, he’ll come round.” 

But I could not stand this. 

“ Tell my father I can do without his patronage, and 
try to prevent him from making an old fool of himself. 
Look at him now.” 

For he was obsequiously apologising for me to Lord 
Marlington, if I can read the expression of his back ! 
His humiliating conduct was unspeakably painful. 

Then for the first time I lost my temper, and hurrying 
up to the group I said, “ Look here, Marlington, I have 
submitted to the infernal impertinence of you and 
your mother long enough. Now my poor wife is buried 
I need remain silent no longer. If you persecute me 
by ‘vindicating’ poor Gertrude, as she called it, I’ll 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


295 


speak the truth about you. I know what you intend. 
There’s a plot at Dichester to drive me out of Parlia- 
ment. Nothing will induce me to resign.” 

Marlington’s yellow face grew white. 

“ Any communication you have to make must come 
through my lawyers,” he said. 

The pink- eyed cousins gaped with long white teeth 
till I felt inclined to knock their wizened heads together, 
and my father looked on, unable to speak. 

As I turned hastily away I could see him apologising 
once more for my outburst of honest indignation. 

Driving back to the Temple I could not help think- 
ing how fortunate it was I could always indulge in the 
luxury of biting hack at the pack of curs barking at 
my heels. Thank you, mon bon papal thank you. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


I have now reached a point in my autobiography 
where it attains almost national importance, for I am 
about to tell you of the fight I carried on against 
bigotry and intolerance in the cause of freedom. 
Englishmen think that when a man in any country 
has a right to say whatever he chooses the last point 
has been reached in the limit of personal liberty. At 
any rate we have made no real progress beyond it ; we 
are not yet free enough to enable the just man to dis- 
regard the outcry of sanctimonious cliques. Somebody 
said he would rather see this great country free than 
sober under compulsion. I think it was one of our 
bishops. No one recognises more clearly than I the 
necessity of morals in politics, but to the end of my 
life I shall maintain that until a Member of Parliament 
is found guilty of some offence before a court of justice 
his constituents must accept his word as a proof of 
innocence. It was for this great principle I fought a 
tremendous battle against overwhelming odds. But I 
was not properly supported in the House. Although 
every member of my acquaintance in private agreed 
with me, not one in public dared to identify himself 
with the principle I upheld with so much courage. 

Marlington went down to Dichester with the object 
of turning my electors against me. When the case 
with which my poor wife threatened me was pending 
296 


MR. BAILEY-MAR TIN. 


297 


the local conscience of the dissenters turned against 
me, as you already know. Gertrude’s death would 
have enabled me to appease them, had it not been for 
the infamous conspiracy my brother-in-law formed 
against me. There had sprung up a strong “ local ” 
purity party at Dichester. A rich grocer in the High 
Street, suspected of indiscreet conduct with his wife’s 
pretty housemaid, had been compelled to sell his busi- 
ness at a great loss and leave the town. This party 
was continually on the look-out for “ immorality ” in 
high places as well as seeking to “ purify ” the ancient 
borough, which was no better or worse than any other 
in the neighbourhood of a cavalry depot. When I was 
elected I had permitted my name to be used as the 
nominal president of this society, and had read a paper 
before them which James Blake had written for me 
on “Man-of-the- World Morality.” It was a perfectly 
sincere expression of opinion on my part, but written 
in a somewhat unctuous style. “ Give it them thick,” 
Blake had said, “ and with lots of oil.” It was much 
liked, especially as the conduct of a Tory Member of 
Parliament in the same county, suspected of irregularity 
of life, was deplored by innuendo and suggestion. Di- 
rectly the scandal burst upon Dichester, the local paper 
on the other side reprinted my address with much 
scurrilous and unjust comment. Then all the S tig- 
gin ses and Chadbands of the place, who had been 
proud a few weeks ago to come to my lectures and ask 
a blessing on the “ teas ” I had offered, waxed wroth, 
and it was from this little nucleus of hypocrisy and 
cant that the demand for my resignation, of which I 
have told you, sprung. As I have already said, under 
ordinary circumstances I should have been able to 
pacify these odious people when my wife died, had 


298 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


it not been for an attack of unparalleled bitterness in 
the “ Evening Umpire,” written, as I at first supposed, 
by Leer, who believes an angel stands at his elbow to 
direct his paper in the right path of morality and 
aggressive non-conformity. 

From internal evidence I perceived the writer had 
been entrusted with the papers docketed by Gertrude, 
“ Evidence against Percival Bailey-Martin.” 

My first idea was to commence an action for libel 
against “The Umpire,” but that would have been 
followed by the publication of the papers and letters 
Leer held over my head. “ They were,” he said in 
private, “enough to damn St. Paul himself.” It was 
clear I should be playing into Leer’s hands by taking 
action against him. Behind an hypocritical rampart 
of “ daring everything in the cause of public morality,” 
he defied me to appeal to the law for protection. 
“There are times,” screamed “The Umpire,” “when 
all leaders of opinion must speak out. We must not 
hesitate, even were it a question of Pitt himself or 
‘the heroic victor of Trafalgar’ to demand immacu- 
late purity with our public men. There was no com- 
pounding with sin.” 

I hurried to Dichester, and publicly declared my 
intention of horse-whipping the scoundrel who had 
defamed me in “ The Umpire,” but was obliged to 
deliver my message to the reporters. I could not even 
hire a hall to speak in, and the White Hart refused 
to have me as a guest. Marlington was spending his 
sister’s legacy munificently in ruining me. There was 
not a dirty little boy in the place unacquainted with 
some scandalous story about me. 

“ Resign ! resign ! resign ! ” was the shout that 
drowned my words at a second public meeting com 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


299 


yened in the roofless Drill Hall, the only place now 
opened to me. I then issued an address to my con- 
stituents pointing out there was a cabal to ruin me. I 
had, I said, no desire to represent them. Private sor- 
rows made public life “ one long torture.” But in re- 
fusing to place my resignation in their hands I was 
fighting for the great principle of members’ rights. “ I 
shall outlive,” I said, “ the storm of purchased obloquy 
and venal abuse now raging about me, and a day will 
come when the real truth will transpire, and those 
whose clamours for my social and political destruction 
are now loudest will deplore their injustice and folly in 
ignorantly siding against me in the most detestable 
plot ever yet set in motion to destroy a man who, 
whatever his shortcomings, stands before you with 
conscience unsullied. I refuse to resign because res- 
ignation would be equivalent to a confession of guilt. 
The innocent man need fear nothing, and I defy my 
enemies to do their worst.” 

My address won me a few friends, chiefly Conserv- 
ative voters, and some attempts were made to get up 
a public meeting at the Town Hall, but when I learned 
that it was their intention to pelt me with rotten eggs 
and bags of flour directly I attempted to get a hearing, 
I refused to hold any further parley with my mutinous 
electors. I wrote to the mayor, declining to waste time 
in trying to address bands of howling roughs. “ I 
leave Dichester,” I said, “ with no intention of speaking 
again in public till the time for proving my innocence 
comes.” 

Returning to town I found this quarrel with my 
electors had roused the interest of the country. There 
was no longer a newspaper in the three kingdoms 
ignorant of my name. “ The Member for Dichester 


300 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIM. 


and his constituents ” was a constant head-line in the 
evening newspapers. Leader-writers made me their 
theme ; interviewers demanded to see me, and the 
Editor of the “ Omnipotent Review ” offered me fifty- 
guineas for an article on “The Rights of Private 
Members, and the Claims of Constituencies.” It was 
through my desire to avail myself of this opportunity 
of judicially giving my case to the educated public that 
I became involved in another scandal. 

I had seen nothing of James Blake for some time. I 
had written to ask him to come down to Dichester, but 
he had not answered. This I had imputed to one of 
his frequent attacks of inebriety. His literary help 
would have been useful to me in the preparation of my 
article in the “ Omnipotent Review, ’’ and I was prepared 
to pay him for his help. I sought him at the Scalp 
Hunters’ at night. The excitement in which I had 
lately lived had kept me from my old haunts. I found 
a number of men there, amongst them a journalist who 
bore no love to “ Jemmie,” as I used to call him in 
early and happier days. 

The general conversation dropped when I sat at the 
supper-table. Men eagerly talking theatres, politics, 
books, ceased directly I approached ; for suddenly 
I had become — famous shall I say ? for fame it is when 
rumour wags her tongue at the mere shadow of your 
name. 

“ When the hawk flies into the wood all the little 
birds are silent,” said the journalist. The whole table 
paid me the deference of listening whilst I spoke. 

“ I’m no hawk, but a much harried and perplexed 
small bird,” I answered. A few months ago no one 
would have heeded me ; now the shadow of my per- 
sonality overawed them. I had been dipped in the 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


301 


tragic waters of strife ; I had fought howling mobs for 
a hearing ; I was the single champion of a forlorn hope. 
Trifles had disappeared from my life. Indeed that 
simile about the hawk was not an unhappy one. The 
men who had once “ old-chapped me,” who had not 
even hesitated to try their clumsy banter at my ex- 
pense, looked at me across the decanters, through the 
steam of chops, Welsh-rarebits, and other savoury 
messes, expectant, curious, but respectful. What I said 
would, I knew, be stored up and retailed by them with 
pride. And the man who could say to-morrow, “ I 
met Bailey-Martin last night,” would feel a glow of 
superiority. 

I talked to them calmly of my position. I had 
adopted my present attitude of studied defiance from 
a sense of public duty. I should be conquered, but I 
had payed the way for others who might desire to 
fight against the great reviving tide of cant, hypocrisy 
and modern puritanism. Then I lit a cigar, and offering 
one to my neighbour the journalist, asked him if he had 
seen anything of “ our little friend Jernmie lately.” As 
I spoke I thought I beheld a glance of amused uneasi- 
ness flicker round the table. 

“ He’ll be here to-night,” said he. 

When, a little later, I went up to the billiard-room, he 
followed me. 

“ Excuse me,” said the man who did not love Blake, 
“but I want to tell you as a journalist how much I 
deplore those infernal attacks in 4 The Umpire.’ There 
was, I see, another to-day.” 

“ I’ll horsewhip Leer,” said I. 

“ Leer never wrote them.” 

“Who did?” 

“ You won’t mention my name if I tell you ? ” 


302 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


“ No, why should I ? ” 

“ Well, it’s no secret,” he continued. “ There’s not a 
man in Fleet Street who hasn’t heard it. I was on 
the staff of ‘The Umpire,’ Jemmie Blake has taken 
my place. He came in when I was down with influ- 
enza. In fact, I played the part of young hedge-spar- 
row to his cuckoo, and never got back to the nest. 

Blake’s a d d little scoundrel. He wrote those 

articles and has a lot of others up his sleeve. If I 
were you I’d break his neck ! ” 

“ Thank you,” I said, “ it doesn’t much matter after 
all who the blackguard is.” 

It was Blake then — Blake who reminded me more of 
a weevil in a rotten biscuit than anything else — who 
had been purchased by Marlington, and was doing his 
best to sting me to death ! I sat and watched the 
players making cannons and hazards in a dream, gather- 
ing indignation unconsciously, as a cloud charges itself 
with electricity. After a while — it was about half-past 
one — I went once more to the supper-room, and there, 
sitting at the table was the man, once my friend, but 
now the hireling scribe, the assassin purchased to stab 
me in the back. How joyfully and skilfully he per- 
formed his work ! When our eyes met, all the men in 
the room watched us. 

“ Glad to see you, Bailey-Martin,” said Blake. “ Con- 
gratulate you on your address — too flowery, perhaps, 
but to the point.” 

I smiled at him, but I decided I would not lose 
sight of him any more that night. When you have 
an explanation with a man like Blake, if you are wise 
you will have it when there is no one by. I lit another 
cigar, and sat and watched Blake eating his supper. 
He was a little uneasy, but it did not spoil his appetite. 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


303 


He had a steak, followed by some stewed cheese and a 
bowl of celery salad. At half-past two there were only 
two other men left in the supper-room, and when they 
rose to go, I left, too, also wishing Blake “good-night” 
and “ hoping to see him at my chambers soon.” 

“ I’m quite longing to see you,” he said, relieved at 
my departure. I think he was afraid of being alone 
with me. 

The night was dark. The lamps on Waterloo and 
Westminster Bridge blinked through a damp drizzle. 
I turned the corner of the now quiet street and waited 
for Blake. 

In ten minutes he appeared, his contemptible little 
body wrapped in a thirty-shilling ulster, three sizes too 
big. I stood in the darkness of a doorway. I had not 
the slightest idea of what I intended to do when I 
sprung forward and caught him by his baggy, flapping 
garment. 

“ Well, you little hound, you literary cut-throat, you 
mean blackguard,” I said, “ I’ve got you, and I’ll half 
kill you.” 

The savage instinct for once in my life mastered me, 
nor do I regret it. 

“You’re drunk, you big coward,” shrieked he. 
“ Help ! police ! help ! ” 

Then I thrashed him with my stick, laying it on 
furiously on his head and face, not knowing and not 
caring where it fell. The blood ran down his face, and 
he shrieked wildly in rage and terror. But the stick 
broke, and he tried to run, but I caught him again and 
beat him with my fists till he fell, half stunned. But 
even then the fierce tide of my accumulated indigna- 
tion was unsatisfied. Seizing him by his collar I 
dragged him to his feet again and dealt him a blow 


304 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


with my fist between his eyes, just as two policemen 
rushed up and laid hold of me. A group of belated 
revellers joined us at the same time, shouting, “run 
him in ! ” 

Blake, in a bloody and battered condition, was picked 
up and at once accused me of attempting to murder 
him. 

I gave the constable my card, which at once made 
him assume a more respectful air towards me, and we 
went, followed by a small crowd, to the Bow Street 
Station. In the gaslight, Blake presented a wretched 
appearance. My stick had gashed his face, and he was 
faint from loss of blood. 

“ I charge Percival Bailey-Martin with trying to mur- 
der me. Write it down, Inspector,” he shrieked, 
“ write it down.” 

“ The big gent would have pretty nearly killed the 
little ’un if we hadn’t come up,” said one of the police- 
men in corroboration. 

“ He did lay it on,” said the other. 

“ Yes, lock him up, lock the beast up,” shrieked 
Blake, still shaking in every limb. “ He’ll murder me 
if you don’t.” 

“Hold your tongue,” cried the Inspector ; “Members 
of Parliament don’t commit murder.” 

Then, whilst Blake was sobbing hysterically in a 
blood-stained check handkerchief, the Inspector turned 
to me and said he was afraid he must keep me there all 
night, since the case was a very serious one. 

Finally, after being revived with brandy, Blake was 
taken to knock up a neighbouring surgeon to have his 
broken head mended, whilst I was obliged to sit in the 
office and meditate till morning. But why prolong an 
ignominious incident? At eight o’clock my friend 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


305 


Boulger, Q. C., who lives in chambers next to mine, was 
induced to come and bail me out. 

A few hours later, on the bills of the evening papers 
you might read : “ Alleged charge of attempted murder 
against an M. P.” 

20 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


Well, Blake’s charge of murder missed fire ; BoulgeT 
insisted that the case was one of ordinary assault, 
when he addressed the magistrate on my behalf. The 
attacks that had appeared against me in “The Um- 
pire ” were well known to be written by Blake, a man 
who had once been my friend ; and though he (Boulger) 
was the last man in the world to palliate violence, he 
submitted I had been sorely tried. At least one half 
of the public, he assured the magistrate, maintained 
that, in taking the law into my own hands, I had acted 
rightly ; and although he was not himself in that num- 
ber, yet he considered the case one to be dealt with at 
once and with leniency. The charge was a ridiculous 
and preposterous one. 

Blake appeared in Court with his head aggressively 
bandaged up, but my counsel had no difficulty in ex- 
hibiting the little villain to the magistrate in an odious 
light. I was fined five pounds and bound over to 
keep the peace. 

But the next day the radical papers opened fire. 
“ What a miscarriage of Justice ! ” they cried. “ The 
Umpire ” outdid itself. 

It hinted I had added perjury to my other offences, 
and declared that I should have honestly been “ doing 
my six months,” if I had been a working-man. I had 
been guilty of a cowardly and brutal assault with a 
306 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


307 


loaded bludgeon on a literary man of “ unblemished 
honour” and splendid abilities, because, forsooth, he had 
dared to speak the truth for the public good. “The 
Umpire,” for its part, much regretted that Parliament 
was not sitting, in order that the attention of the Home 
Secretary might be called to this “ atrocious perversion 
of right. After this final outrage against law, order 
and common decency, it is to be hoped the electors of 
Dichester will be able to get rid of their precious 
member. If they cannot do so> we trust the House it- 
self will expel from their midst a man who has shown 
the brutality of a Bill Sykes with the immorality of a 
professional Don J uan up to date.” 

But the public were delighted with the fun, and the 
other papers insisted I ought to bring an action for 
libel against “ The Umpire,” whilst a comic journal of 
high standing gave a cartoon representing a harpy with 
Leer’s ugly head tearing with long claws at me chained 
to a rock. Beneath were the words: “The Yampire 
and its victim.” The “ Yampire,” as you know, being 
the nickname of that infamous print, “ The Umpire.” 

Meanwhile I was not idle. Leer and his crew had by 
this time overdone it, and a reaction set in in my favour. 
Letters of sympathy reached me from all sides, from 
America as well as from England. All the enemies of 
Yampirism, as Leer’s incomprehensible medley of poli- 
tics, ethics and fanaticism was now called, began to 
side with me; and had it not been that I had once 
dallied with his party and delivered that unlucky 
lecture on “ Man-of- the- World Morality,” I believe I 
should have conquered in the end. I had now many 
able counsellors, and my article on “The Rights of 
Members, and the Claims of Constituents ” was expect- 
ed with much interest by the public. It was announced 


308 


MR. BAILEY-MARTh Y. 


that the “ Omnipotent Review ” would also contain my 
answer to the infamous charges of Leer. In concoct- 
ing this I was fortunate enough to meet with a clever 
man of letters who had written a book entitled, “ My 
Friends’ Wives,” which “The Umpire” had gone out 
of its way bitterly to attack as a book of strongly im- 
moral bias on the philosophy of adultery. The author 
of this loathed Leer as much as I did, and was consid- 
ered the strongest opponent Vampirism ever had. 
The article, which appeared under my name, was our 
joint production ; he was responsible for the satire, 
whilst I supplied the righteous indignation. By 
mixing up a number of side-issues my position was 
strengthened. By this time it was only very clear- 
headed people who remembered the original claim of 
my constituents against me. I must, it was said, 
either clear my character publicly in a court of law, by 
bringing an action against Leer, or resign my seat. 
But this simple issue had now become a very complex 
one. Instead of sinking into oblivion beneath the 
storm, I tossed over its waves under the fascinating 
lime-light of publicity. So famous had I become that 
my father, mother and Robert were converted to my 
cause, and what natural affection was not able to ac- 
complish was easily brought about by their vanity. It 
is not every suburban family that can boast of a son 
doing battle in the cause of freedom. 

But as the issues of my dispute with my constituents 
and “ The Umpire” widened, the campaign spread over 
too extended an area to be conducted by one man, and 
a committee was formed to assist me. Lord Macaulay 
said no army led by a debating society ever marched 
to victory. 

I attribute my defeat in some measure to the fussy 


MB. BAILEY-MAB TIN. 309 

interference of the good people who supported me with 
money, influence and conflicting counsel. 

Dichester had been stirred to its lowest depth by 
the conflict, and a party had arisen there to support 
me. They were even noisier than my opponents, and 
had little difficulty in persuading my committee they 
represented a majority in the borough. 

Accompanied by a number of able speakers I ad- 
dressed several public meetings, carefully packed be- 
forehand by my supporters. O’Rooke, the great Irish 
orator, made a splendid speech in my favour. Cuffin, the 
famous author of “ Logic as applied to Politics,” dem- 
onstrated the purity of my motives, whilst the Rev. 
Arthur Pugh spoke of the dignity and heroism with 
which I wore the martyr’s crown. 

The meeting terminated amid enthusiastic cries 
of “ Bailey-Martin for ever ! ” “ We’ll re-elect you ! ” 

“ Down with Leer ! ” “ Down with cant ! ” 

So wild was the excitement that a row occurred in the 
High Street and the windows of the Little Bethel cor- 
rugated iron school- room were broken, when a prayer- 
meeting was being held to entreat for the intercession 
of Providence in order that a “ Christian borough might 
be relieved of the disgrace of its present Member.” 

It was against my own better judgment that, finally, 
I consented to seek re-election. But I do not think 
Dichester will soon forget the electoral fight which 
deprived me of my seat, although I shall always con- 
sider it a grave error of judgment. My party had 
treated me badly, and hinted I was a thorn in their 
side. I determined, therefore, to come before the 
electors as an independent candidate. The leaders of 
my party, who counted on the dissenters and feared 
Leer, insisted on opposing me. Their candidate was 


310 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


one of the pink-eyed, rabbit-month ed Marlington 
cousins. The Conservatives ran Captain Rooper, a 
bluff, deep-chested naval officer, with a stentorian voice, 
who had been only a couple of hundred votes behind 
me. at the last election. 

A few hours’ canvassing* convinced me my defeat was 
as certain as Rooper’s election. Half the people who 
supported me by shouting and rioting I soon discovered 
did not possess a vote. Universal suffrage would, I be- 
lieve, have placed me at the head of the poll. But in 
this useless form of popularity I could see no solid con- 
solation. My warmest friends were six hundred brick- 
makers (of whom only ten had votes), recently imported 
to Dichester to work on some newly-discovered brick- 
fields. But these worthy people were easily convinced 
I was the victim of a conspiracy. The way had been 
well paved for this by a socialist preacher, who had 
persuaded them they ought to divide the Marlington 
estates between them and share the profits of the brick- 
fields on which they were employed. 

But if they could not vote they could frighten the 
fat tradesmen of the High Street into putting up their 
shutters, and rush up and down shouting, “ Martin for 
ever.” 

They turned the meetings of my opponents into riot- 
ous assemblies, which even the voice of Captain Rooper 
could not dominate, and entirely silenced the feeble 
and thin squeak of the pink-eyed cousin. 

Bob and my father came down, and the latter actually 
got on a platform unexpectedly and assured the people 
I had been “ a noble son, a good but cruelly misunder- 
stood husband.” Enthusiasm carried the foolish old 
man a long way ; why could he not recognise this before 
the lime-light was turned on ! But I forgave him, and 


MR. BAILEY -MAR TIN. 


311 


not one bitter allusion to the past has escaped my filial 
lips. The poll was declared at ten o’clock at night. 1 
was at the bottom of it, — fifteen votes behind the Mar- 
lington cousin, and nearly a thousand below Captain 
Hooper. I had never hoped to win, and had I followed 
my own opinion the contest would not have been pro- 
voked. Still I had “ drunk the delight of battle,” not, it 
is true, “ with my peers,” but with sham religion and the 
“Vampire Conscience,” as my collaborator nicknamed 
the cluster of hypocritical sentiments Leer and his 
canting clique had set in motion against me. Nor was 
I entirely unavenged. My supporters, many of whom, 
I regret to say, had been plied with liquor by the young 
bloods who had come down from town to help me can- 
vass, howled savagely when they learnt the figures 
against me. Then all at once it was rumoured amongst 
the crowd that Leer was at the White Hart gloating 
over my overthrow — which he had helped to contrive. 
I have been accused even of having given encourage- 
ment to the riot which now occurred, but unjustly, for, 
had any evidence existed, the Dichester municipality 
would have brought an action against me for damages. 
They badly wanted to find some one to pay for the 
smashed street lamps, which eventually had to be paid 
for from the pockets of the rate-payers. 

The crowd by this time was in that frame of mind 
in which the savage instincts of the chase invariably 
come to the surface. All at once shouts of “ Catch 
the Vampire ” arose. They were rough, I admit, not 
“ roughs,” as the papers said next morning, but a 
crowd of indignant and voteless working-men who 
deemed me wronged, and howled at Leer from sheer 
honest love of fair-play. The brilliant author of 
“ My Friends’ Wives ” may have urged them on, but of 


312 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


this I know nothing. At all events, the mob, or rather, 
a big fragment of it, rushed down the High Street 
from the Town Hall to the White Hart and began to 
roar outside for Leer, qualifying his name with every 
perversely picturesque epithet much practice in abuse 
could suggest. 

The small body of rural policemen were swept away 
by the rush they vainly endeavoured to stem. 

The doors of the White Hart were barred, and 
the figures on the balcony of the bay-window of the 
coffee-room disappeared. It was, as the author of 
“My Friends’ Wives” said, like a scene from the 
French Revolution. But Leer, low fellow though he 
is, is no coward, at last appeared on the balcony, and 
attempted to address the howling crowd, until a stone, 
thrown at his head, smashing the window behind him, 
compelled him and his friends to beat a hasty retreat. 
To an angry mob there is something wildly encourag- 
ing in the crash of glass, and in another minute there 
was not an unbroken pane in the ancient hostelry. 
My sympathetic but simple-minded friends had, we 
afterwards learnt, thoughtfully filled their pockets with 
missiles in case of need. 

At Dichester, as well as in Ancient Rome, fury will 
furnish arms. Furor arma minstrat , ha ! ha ! ha ! It 
is pleasant to see one’s tags of Latin become accom- 
plished facts. Then, it appears, Bennett, amidst the 
crash of stones and the bursting of bottles at his bar, 
insisted Leer should escape to the neighbouring police- 
station by the back door. The moment he was gone, 
the terrified innkeeper, by means of an ostler, informed 
the crowd of the Vampire’s flight. 

The mob at once set forth in pursuit, and Leer was 
cut off before he could reach the shelter of the friendly 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN . 


318 


police-station. A number of constables, guessing the 
intention, gathered round him with drawn truncheons. 
A fierce skirmish for his possession ensued, of which 
my friends and I were the amused spectators. Leer 
was knocked down, and rolled over and over in the 
mud, and many honest heads were broken before he 
was dragged, hatless and up-side-down, into the station. 
The High Street by this time was seething with mis- 
chievous rioters ; and, whilst some of the light-hearted 
combatants were smashing the gas-lamps in emulation, 
a troop of cavalry, summoned by the panic-stricken 
mayor, clattered into the market-place, and there drew 
up. Their presence, however, was not needed, for the 
rain began to fall steadily, and soon damped the ardour 
of the rioters, now tired of the fun. Some of the most 
able-bodied and pugnacious, moreover, had been 
dragged into the police station, fighting to the last in 
my cause with splendid energy. The troopers trotted 
down the High Street ; the police rallied, the mob was 
split up and dispersed, and quiet was at length restored 
to the ancient borough of Dichester, that had indeed 
got rid of its Member, but at a price they scarcely 
expected to pay. 

Such was my adieu to Dichester. And I think my 
leaving it was not unworthy of my coming. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


It will give you an idea of the place I occupied in 
the public mind, when I tell you that I have been the 
subject of two hundred and fifty-seven leading articles, 
over four hundred paragraphs, and innumerable minor 
press references. I kept the people at Binks’s Agency, 
to which I subscribed, busy, I can tell you. Binks 
himself told me he had only once sent as many “ cut- 
tings ” to a client before, and “ she was a prima-donna, 
sued by her husband for divorce.” But think not, 
gentle reader, that I care for all these things. Press 
notices delight me not. Abuse or blame are alike to 
the just man. To walk down Piccadilly and hear the 
passers-by say “ There goes Bailey-Martin,” could afford 
little pleasure to a man like me. Yet, whenever a man 
has been shot up to a great height by an explosion of 
popular forces, fired by contending currents of feeling, 
he must inevitably experience a sense of departed glory 
when, in obedience to the laws of gravitation that 
exist in the world of mind as well as in the world of 
matter, he falls once more to nearly the same level as 
a poet or a man of science. Having driven me from 
public life, “ The Umpire ” ceased to abuse me for a time 
and, so far as I was concerned, the world settled down 
into its former groove. But I had drank of the strong 
waters of publicity, and found little consolation in the 
excitement London could afford me. Besides, a number 
314 


MU. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


315 


of my fashionable friends and acquaintances had thought 
it “ good form,” as they call it in their vulgar parlance, 
to cut me. Tons of mud had been hurled at my head, 
and some of it had stuck. My new friends were, as 
Bob said, “ a rum lot.” Some were the chevaliers 
cV Industrie of politics, others fools and faddists. I 
was a politician belonging to no party, and it was 
thought by the people with whom the vicissitudes of 
my career brought me into contact, that some consti- 
tuency or other might be induced to ask me to repre- 
sent it at the approaching general election. 

I think, looking back to my voluminous correspond- 
ence, that this might have come to pass had it not 
been for the publication of the 44 Life and Literary 
Reliques of Lady Gertrude Bailey-Martin,” which ap- 
peared anonymously eighteen months after her death. 
That venomous little toad, Blake, was the author of it. 
It was, I admit, a very fine piece of work, the finest he 
ever did. It proved hate may be a greater stimulus 
to art than love. My name was scarcely mentioned 
but indirectly by innuendo and suggestion. I was 
made to play the part of the villain. The reason given 
for publishing the book was, in the author’s words, 44 to 
prevent so touching a record of a woman’s life passing 
into oblivion.” The real reason, to ruin me. In 44 The 
Umpire” my reputation had been banged clumsily 
with a brutal bludgeon ; but in my wife’s memories it 
was reached by the subtlest of literary poisons. It had 
a great success and was read by everybody. Senti- 
mental women cried over the much touched-up lines of 
my wife’s diary with the ghastly * * * inserted by 
the Editor, with wicked cunning whenever he thought it 
good to pretend there was something too painful for 
the public eye. Blake, in fact, cooked the diary with 


aio 


MB. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


which I, as you know, was not unfamiliar. He even 
had the impudence to interpolate that well-known lit- 
tle poem beginning, 

“I sit and sigh in lonely grief 
And long for wliat can ne’er he mine.” 

Then he took her philosophy seriously, and hammered 
the crude fragments of essays she had left into very 
telling articles. Nor did he fail to discover that as a 
philosopher she had reached the condition of “ neo- 
scientific idealism,” whatever that may mean. At all 
events it became quite the thing, in certain cultured 
sets, where a knowledge of Herbert Spencer’s works is 
de rigueur, for the young women to describe themselves 
as “ neo-scientific idealists.” 

But what harmed me most was the misrepresenta- 
tion of an incident recorded thus by Blake : “ When 

Lady Gertrude’s admirable work, the ‘ Evolution of 
Conduct,’ was refused by one publisher after another, 
because they erroneously believed the public took no 
interest in great questions of philosophy, however 
grandly treated, the authoress, then in a depressed 
state of health from overwork and domestic worry, 
received the following brutal note from one to whom 
she had every right to look for love, protection, encour- 
agement and comfort. My whole nature recoils with 
indignation and disgust as I transcribe it : ‘Now that 
all the leading publishers have kicked out your “ Evo- 
lution of Conduct,” don’t you think we might hand it 

over to C to twist into curl-papers ? ’” It is at this 

point that Gertrude is supposed to “ sit and sigh in 
lonely grief,” and that Blake, in a passage of great elo-. 
quence and power denounced me. “ Miserable man ! ” 
he cried, apostrophising me in the words of Shelley, 


MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. 


317 


“ you, one of the meanest, have wantonly defaced one 
of the noblest specimens of the workmanship of God. 
Nor shall it be your excuse that, murderer as you are, 
you have spoken daggers, though used none.” 

What could I do? Blake had not openly said I 
had written the note. To write to the papers and 
point out the note was a little joke which Gertrude 
had not appreciated, owing to her singular lack of 
humour, would be to make matters worse. The wicked 
shaft shot in darkness had transfixed me. In every 
leading paper in England the note was quoted, and 
what was beyond the powers of all the thunders of “ The 
Umpire,” one lying paragraph achieved. Blake built 
my Calvary and crucified me. A heedless note, copied 
into a hypochondriacal diary, in a moment of petulance 
by a woman who had once loved me, was my cross ! 

After this my friends turned their backs on me. 
The wretched adventurers with whom I had consorted, 
and whom I despised, fell away from me, and howled 
at me in obscure prints. The men at my clubs were 
ashamed to be seen talking to me; my own family 
shrunk from me in the storm of opprobrium. Though 
I faced it bravely, in England, I could not but perceive 
my career was gone. Six long months after the book 
was published, whilst I was sitting in my chambers 
in the Temple, sadly brooding on my fate, I received 
the following cablegram from New York: “Silas died 
yesterday. Come to the one friend left you.” 

O, the green islands in the ocean of sorrow, where 
the sirens laugh, rosy-bosomed and joyous ! there the 
storm-tossed voyager may rest his head ! 

O, Mimi ! innocent cause of my overthrow, but so- 


318 


M li . BA ILE Y-MA R TIN. 


lace of my wounded heart! Your beauty is not so 
dazzling, perhaps, as when we first basked together 
in the sunshine at Chamonix, but your wealth is 
great, and jealousy a bitter and ugly thing you do not 
know. 

As 1 write these lines, I am sitting by the open win- 
dow of her — may I not say our? — lovely villa at Cannes. 
Outside is sunshine, for it is March, and the spring is 
hurrying on with the passionate fervour of the south. 
In the garden she is seated with Prince Groff enski, 
who has just lost £20,000 at Monte Carlo, and now is 
seeking, as he says in his odd, foreign way, “ Consola- 
tion in the smiles of beauty.” How the blue sea 
sparkles ! how the roses scent the garden ! there is the 
lunch -bell. Bah! I am sick of my country, its cant, its 
politics, its lies, its grim climate ! It is all too narrow 
for me — for have I not become a citizen of the world ? 
Yes, reader, I have developed from a suburban cater- 
pillar to that rarest thing — a man ! 

But here we must part. These papers, written in 
vindication of my life, will clear my memory in the 
eyes of the candid and unprejudiced, as for the others 
— well ! as Mimi says in her Palais Royal French, of 
which she is so proud, “Je ne nCen fiche pas mail ” 


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